


Precipice

by ManicRavingsofaLunatic



Category: Thunderbirds, Thunderbirds Are Go 2015
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blame the plot bunnies attacking me, Family, Gen, Have spent way too much time trolling through fanfic archives, Hurt/Comfort, Recently got hooked on the show, Suspense, delicious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicRavingsofaLunatic/pseuds/ManicRavingsofaLunatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission goes terribly sideways, the boys having to battle Mother Nature herself to save one of their own</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm setting this in the 2015 series, so for appearances sake, Gordon and John have swapped hair colour and Alan is a teenager. But there's also been some picking and choosing from the other two 'verses as well. To be honest, this is mostly influenced by the ten tonne of fanfics that I have lost myself in this past month, so it's probably more 'fanon' than 'canon' with quite a few headcanons of my own thrown in.
> 
> Also, this is just me satisfying a plot bunny that wouldn't stop gnawing at my leg and distracting me. As such there are no plans for continuation or sequels, this is purely standalone. I hope that you enjoy anyway!

When Scott opened his eyes – once the Earth had stopped shaking, that is – all he could see was the wall of white lit up by the LED lights in his helmet. Pressed up against the face plate he could almost make out each of the individual grains and crystals of ice and snow. It would have been pretty, if he wasn't being suffocated by it.

A secondary avalanche had taken them by surprise during the rescue. John up in Five was trying to predict them, but even he had only able to give them a mere moments warning before their legs were swept out from beneath them and a great weight had buried them who knew how deep. Thank Brains for their thermal uniforms as well as the condensed breathing apparatus built into their masks, or they'd be asphyxiated _and_ hypothermic right now.

The girl.

The girl? Right, yes, the girl that Alan had gone over the edge to rescue. She was with them now, wasn't she? Virgil had taken her while Scott had supervised the ropes currently keeping their younger brothers from plummeting down a chasm. Gordon. Alan. Where-?

Panic sped up the eldest Tracy's thought process as he remembered just how completely FUBAR this rescue had become. He had to get to Gordon and Alan, make sure that they were still okay. Had to get Virgil and the girl out of the snow before she became their first casualty. He couldn't let Dad down.

His arms hurt from where they were wrenched awkwardly above his head, half-frozen fingers gripping his grapple gun, the line anchoring them to something further up the mountain. There was something warm trapped between his knees, his long legs the only limbs that he had had available to grab onto Virgil with before he and the girl could be swept away. Cautiously, silently praying, Scott wiggled his left leg, and was rewarded with a slight shift from his middle brother. Alive. Trapped as good as he was.

But alive.

He could work with that.

Moving was difficult (understatement), but with a bit of effort Scott managed to twist a hand free of his grapple gun just enough to begin clawing at the snow. It was soft, cold against numb fingers (and who thought that fingerless gloves were a good idea, anyhow?) but still so heavy. It felt like a lead weight against his chest, constricting his breathing as he desperately began to dig himself free.

Finally, after what felt like an age, his hand broke the surface. Stretched straight out, the snow came up to about midway along his forearm – not as deep as he had feared, but more than deep enough if they didn't move quickly.

Scott's vision was starting to go grey at the edges, his struggles to free his other arm robbing him of precious breath even as he felt the oxygen pumped into his helmet. Even with the air supply fully functioning, the weight of the snow was making it near impossible to draw it in. He was suffocating, and worse – Virgil was too. He couldn't save his brothers... he couldn't even save himself...

Why did it have to be _snow?_

Of all the horrifically ironic things... An _avalanche_... It had already taken their mother away. And now it was going to take _everything else_ too?

_Mom._

Something fluffy and unpleasantly wet wrapped around his hand that was poking out of the snow like a flag of surrender. Scott's oxygen deprived mind only vaguely registered it as a snow-soaked mitten before suddenly he was being _yanked,_ hard. Pried from the snow. White was replaced with painfully bright blue as a full breath of air filled his lungs and made his head buzz. Blinking, he struggled to figure out what had happened – how he could suddenly breathe – why he was now free.

Well, from the waist up anyway.

He was sitting still half-buried in the snow, the goggled face of his rescuer uncomfortably close to his own. It was one of the researchers – one of the people that they had come all of this way to rescue – who had turned around and saved them. Or at least, _him._

_Virgil._

Scrabbling desperately from where he was still mostly trapped, Scott began digging above his legs, the warm weight he could feel pressed against his knees reminding him of his brother still buried. Two more of the researchers were digging nearby, and seeing his actions quickly came over to help. Between the four of them they scooped back the deep snow, revealing a bright pink snow-suit. Wrapped around it was the distinctively blue arms of an International Rescue uniform.

One of the researchers, the girl's mother, grabbed the tiny pink-clad body and pulled her abruptly from Virgil's grip. Scott only half paid attention as the little girl gradually stirred and hugged close to her mother, his focus almost entirely on freeing his too-still brother.

Strong arms wrapped around Scott's chest and pulled him completely clear of the snow as the other researcher dragged Virgil out as well, eliciting a pained grunt from the younger brunette that sounded like music to Scott's ears. Gasping in air now that he was finally able, Virgil's brown eyes met Scott's blue, the pair of them silently confirming that the other was okay.

" _-tt! Answer me dammnit! Scott!-"_

"We're here, Johnny," Scott croaked, his voice sounding weird. His immediate younger brother sounded near panic, his voice alone telling him that the Space Monitor had been trying to get through to them since the most recent avalanche had hit; however long that had been. "The girl's back with her mom and Virgil and I are okay. The researchers dug us out."

" _Injuries?"_ John asked, trying to bury his concern under the distant professionalism he usually used, but Scott could still hear it anyway. He glanced at Virgil for confirmation.

"Just bruises," he answered. "And maybe frostbite."

" _Gordon and Alan?"_

Gordon and Alan.

Like meerkats on the Serengeti, both Virgil and Scott swivelled their heads to stare at the edge simultaneously. The landscape had changed in the wake of the avalanche, but it was painfully obvious that where the rope had been anchored was now no longer there. And on the other end of that rope, dangled miles above unforgiving ground, was their younger brothers. If the rope had been yanked free... No one would have survived that drop... and with tonnes of snow on top...

"Gordon? Can you hear me?" Scott demanded through the comms. He could practically feel John and Virgil listening as intently as he was, searching for the smallest sign. "Alan? Gordon? Someone answer!"

Nothing but the static of the airwaves.

" _I'll keep trying."_

Up in Five, John opened a second channel, keeping the main line clear as he continued to try and hail the youngest Tracy's. Scott looked around, trying to get his bearings and reign his panic back under control. This was still a rescue to perform which meant that they had other responsibilities, no matter how much he would rather just ignore them right then. "Get the researchers back to the CAT and make sure that the girl's okay," he ordered.

Virgil just looked at him, skin ghostly white through the face plate as he imagined Gordon and Alan's fate. "But Scott-"

"Just do it," Scott cut him off, his tone final. If the worst had happened, he couldn't let Virgil see. Best to distract him, give him something else to worry over. The girl was most likely hypothermic and needed attention anyway. It was for the best.

" _Scott..."_ John's voice crackled in his ear.

Scott bit down on his lip and closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself. "Tell me they're still there, Johnny."

" _Tracking."_ A pause. A pause that was far too long and let Scott's wild imagination picture every worst case scenario. And then: _"_ _I've been trying since the avalanche. There's a lot of interference from the research station and the mountain... I'm half-blind up here, Scott. EOS is boosting Five's sensors as far as they'll go but-"_

Silence.

"John?"

" _I'm working on it."_

Despair gripped Scott in a hold colder than the snow that had buried him not all that long ago. This couldn't be happening. All of the people that they had saved – all of the good that they had done. After _everything_ they had already lost. This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Trudging through the snow, Scott retraced his steps, trying to remember exactly where they had dug the anchor for the ropes. They had been in a hurry, desperate to get to Alan and the girl before the youngest Tracy had lost his tenuous grip on this godforsaken mountain, but that didn't mean that they had cut corners. The equipment was Brains' design... the margin of safety that he always built within... there was still a chance. There _had_ to be.

Dropping to his knees at his closest approximation, Scott forced numb fingers to scrape through the snow. His actions were automatic and jittery, his body exhausted and aching, but he couldn't stop himself from digging even if he had had the inclination to try. It was the last hope that he was clinging to, and he was far too stubborn to just let it go.

He winced as his fingers caught against something metallic, speeding up his attempts and slowly revealing exactly what he was looking for. The anchor, still embedded deep into the rock and hidden by the snow. The rope, still pinned in place, still _taut_... still attached to _something_...

" _Scott!"_

It was the end of the rope. It had been pulled to it's full length; which was more than a little worrying – there had still been at least eight metres of slack to go when they had lowered Gordon over the edge. A nasty drop, but still survivable. Scott followed the rope until he found the belay, shoving the cursed snow out of the way as he revealed the lifeline...

" _I've got them!"_ John almost shouted through the comms. _"They're still there! About eight metres further down the chasm than before and holding steady. I'm reading life signs, Scott."_

Scott closed his eyes in relief. Over the line he could hear Virgil mumble something gratefully, followed by a promise to bring the rescue equipment out just as soon as he finished getting the girl and the researchers secure. Scott barely heard him, his attention grabbed by the rope in his hands. And how worryingly _thin_ it was.

The belay brake had fully locked during the avalanche, but the rope had still been wrenched through regardless. Friction had done its job well, shredding the especially formulated nylon; Brains' genius the only reason that the rope hadn't outright snapped already. But it was still fraying under the strain of the two IR operatives currently relying on it to stay alive. Thread by precious thread...

There wasn't time to think, to formulate a plan. Following the straight line further down, aiming for a stronger part of the rope not shredded by the belay, Scott dug frantically. Hands finally curled around nylon and clung, feet planted and braced as securely as possible...

"VIRGIL!"

_SNAP_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A random disclaimer: I know nothing about climbing, or avalanches, or what one should actually do during a mountain rescue, so please suspend disbelief if I have gotten it completely wrong... 
> 
> And I also make reference to Alan actually wanting his learners permit (I started this before Designated Driver aired, but it bugged me that they've made Alan not want to drive despite his thing being race car driving, so this is like my rebellion lol)

It had started as a simple rescue. Admittedly tricky, but a simple premise.

A small team of researchers had gotten themselves trapped inside their station on the side of Alps during an avalanche and needed digging out. Usually local Search and Rescue would have handled it, but there were risks of more landslides, and the surrounding area had been deemed too hazardous to attempt a rescue at that time. The researchers had said that they could wait; they still had power and heat and supplies, they just couldn't get out the front door.

But then another avalanche had taken out their generator. With the temperature dropping fast and an even colder night approaching, they now needed rescuing _sooner_ rather than later. Add to that the little girl that one of the researchers had brought along with her on the expedition, and it had quickly become apparent that International Rescue needed to be called.

It was their seventh call out in half as many days.

The Tracy boys were tired and aching, but duty had called and they, as always, answered. For peace of mind and safety reasons, it had been agreed that all four of them would go; better to keep an eye on each other. A quick tactics meeting in the den had determined a plan of action and in minutes, Thunderbirds were Go.

All four earthbound Tracys had loaded into Thunderbird Two. Brains had agreed with local S&R that it was too dangerous for any aircraft to get too close – the down draft would disturb already loosened snow and cause more landslides. The only craft suitable was the Caterpillar, or CAT, International Rescue's all terrain vehicle.

A half hour's flight followed by a two hour drive over perilous topography later, and the Thunderbirds arrived at the Danger Zone.

* * *

"And _why_ can't I get my learner's permit?" Alan whined from where he was slouched on one of the CAT's benches. Opposite him Gordon smirked as he checked over their gear, his eyes flickering to the front seat where Scott was clearly trying very hard not to follow through on his threat to throw Alan out of the van if he continued this line of enquiry. Virgil was focused on driving, which incidentally, was how the conversation had started in the first place. "I already _know_ how to drive, I just need to take the test."

Back on TB2, Alan had volunteered to drive the CAT. He had made the very valid argument that Virgil was tired and that it wasn't going to be an easy trip; but a direct order from Scott and he had quickly dropped the issue. But it hadn't stopped him from once again trying to wheedle his eldest brother into letting him get his permit. He was nearly sixteen already, and he already had his pilots licence...

"I said _no_ , Alan," Scott said firmly, before directing Virgil around a rough patch that the scans had picked up. The caterpillar tread of the aptly named CAT rolled easily over the smaller lumps and bumps in the non-existent road, barely shaking its passengers as the suspension compensated.

"But _why?"_ Alan pushed a little more. He could see the vein practically throbbing in Scott's temple as he purposely tried to ignore the youngest blonde. "You let me fly a _rocket_ around the sun, but I can't even sit behind the wheel of a _car?"_

"That's out of _necessity,"_ Scott hissed from the front seat, and awkward silence fell.

Alan _knew_ that none of his brothers wanted him out on rescues. He was too young – even he would admit that sometimes (if only to himself). But _Dad_ had been International Rescue's Astronaut before. _He_ had flown Thunderbird Three. But now that he was... _missing_... and space rescues were still necessary... _someone_ had had to do it. And as much as his brothers hated to admit it, Alan was the best and incidentally, most qualified. Letting the teenager out on rescues – it was still a decision that Scott struggled with.

"You could've at least have let me ride shotgun," Alan grumbled under his breath, though apparently loud enough to hear. Gordon snorted as the CAT powered up a steep incline and sent the two blondes skittering down their benches, while Virgil and Scott merely rolled their eyes up front.

"We're ten minutes out, John," Scott informed their space-bound brother up in Five, the red-head's floating hologram materialising above the dash. "Any updates?"

" _There's a weather front approaching but it's still a good few hours out,"_ John answered, his hands flicking absently over data that they couldn't see. _"And the research team are reporting a few small landslides further up the mountain. I'm keeping an eye on it."_

Scott nodded as he scrolled through the mission data on his own wrist console. "Thanks, John."

" _Stay safe,"_ John said, glancing almost imperceptibly at Scott as he did. From where he was perched in the back, Alan managed to catch the concerned look that his oldest brother was pointedly ignoring. Snow rescues. Mountain rescues. _Avalanche_ rescues. John always sounded a little more worried when those came up. And Scott always got a little more serious (a feat that Alan had once believed impossible. The Field Commander had proven him _very_ wrong.) _"And wear your helmets. The air's pretty thin up there."_

The Space Monitor signed off as the CAT finally rumbled to a stop. Virgil leaned forward to squint through the windscreen. "Apparently, we're here. Where's the station supposed to be?"

"Ten metres ahead, and about four metres under," Scott replied. "Go around and park above it. We can use the CAT as a shield if need be."

"FAB."

With a final effort to beach the whale of a car on the mountain's northern face, the CAT's engines puttered out of life. Virgil hit a few switches on the dash to activate the 'super-awesome-parking-brake' (as Alan had named it). Beneath the yellow vehicle, two large drills burrowed through the snow and screwed deep into rock, ensuring that the CAT would stay exactly where they left it, no matter what.

Barely waiting for the drills to finish their job, the side door slid open and the two youngest Tracys eagerly climbed out to stretch cramping limbs. The fantastic view offered by the impressive mountain range surrounded them on all sides; distant ski resorts and forests of conifers seeming tiny so many miles below them. A ceiling of clear blue sky defied John's prediction of an incoming weather front, (though they all knew better than to doubt him) the sun glinting blindingly off the untouched blanket of snow.

Hefting one of Brains' specialised shovels over his shoulder (even in 2060 with all its technical advances, apparently the best way to dig someone out was still to literally _dig_. Go figure) Alan trudged down the steep slope. But the snow disguised a hidden boulder, stealing his footing out from under him and sending him tumbling way past where the station was buried. He ended up braked against a snow drift of his own making, his legs akimbo and shovel thrown ahead.

Not even trying to stifle his laugh, Gordon sauntered down after him. "Nice one, Twinkle-Toes."

Alan threw a snowball at his head.

"Quit it, you two," Scott ordered before the battle could escalate further. "And keep it quiet. You don't want to set off another avalanche."

Alan and Gordon shared a look at the thinly veiled fear in their older brother's voice. It was well known that Scott hated rescues like this, though no one ever spoke about it. That would mean talking about Mom's death – and _that_ subject was taboo. All Alan knew about that day was that Scott had dug his then-three-year-old butt out of the snow, saving his life. Alan didn't remember. Scott definitely did.

Wordlessly, Gordon offered Alan a hand to his feet and then helped him to find the shovel that had pelted further down the mountain. Looking down, Alan suddenly sucked in a breath, catching Gordon's attention. "Woah."

Following the younger blonde's line of sight, Gordon spotted just what had taken his breath away. Less than four metres from where they were standing, the mountain dropped off like a cliff. A wide split divided the rock lengthways in a giant grin, the deep chasm leading down into the belly of the beast. From the angle that they had approached it had appeared as if the surface continued uninterrupted down to the base. It was only as they stood practically on top of it that they could see the fissure spanning nearly ten metres across.

Gordon's eyebrows rose as he almost subconsciously tugged Alan further away from the edge. "That's one helluva drop."

"Get up here," Scott ordered through the helmet comms, not wanting to shout and bring the mountain down on top of them. Virgil was already making a start above where the scans determined the door to be as the two youngest approached. "Get digging."

With a flick Gordon unfolded his shovel and dug it plow-end into the snow to lean against it, glaring up at their fearless leader. "And what are _you_ doing?"

"He's ' _supervising'."_ Virgil grunted shortly.

Scott shrugged innocently as they got to work, though it was clear by the way that he was studying the readouts from his wrist computer that his idleness was not for slacking. Up in Five John was monitoring the area for any seismic activity or shifting wind speeds – _anything_ that might incite another avalanche, but that was not satisfying Scott from his own paranoia.

It took a good thirty minutes of digging before the shovels finally hit the metal of the research station, and another twenty on top of that before the door was clear enough to open. By which point all four already-tired Tracys were miserable and cold, though they all tried their best to hide it.

_Professionals,_ after all.

"Somebody call for a taxi?" Gordon quipped as Virgil wrenched the door open. The lead researcher, who introduced himself as Tom, gave the blonde a wry look. He then pointed out his assistant Brian, meteorologist Helen and her six-year-old daughter Amelia, their local expert Jacques, and the team's three grad students; Caitlin, Joe and Ari. Gordon gestured grandly at the CAT. "Your chariot awaits."

But they couldn't leave just yet, of course. The researchers had sensitive equipment that couldn't be left behind, so International Rescue lost another hour of daylight helping them pack up and load. Thankfully the CAT was big enough for the couple of crates and the eight extra bodies, but the heavier load was going to make their journey time significantly longer. As they worked, Amelia played in the snow nearby, the beginnings of a snowman materialising on the mountain side.

It was going well.

And then it all went wrong.

" _Scott -"_ John's voice echoed in all of their helmets, more static-ridden and glitchy than the state of the art equipment usually allowed. _"-ncoming- get to cove- now!"_

An ominous rumble from further up the mountain made all of them freeze. Birds vacated the area en mass as the rumble built up to a dull roar like rushing water, the ground beginning to shake beneath their feet.

"Move! Move! Move!" Scott ordered, yanking the nearest person and hauling them in close to the especially anchored CAT before turning and grabbing someone else. The roar got closer and closer, the quaking getting so rough that it knocked Alan's feet out from under him even as he shoved one of the grad students in the right direction. He looked up to see the wave of white death thundering towards them, the blood draining from his face as a deeply repressed memory from _that_ day held him in place.

" _AMELIA!"_ the mother yelled, reaching for the little girl who was huddled at the base of her snowman. Her boss held her back, preventing her from running to her daughter as the avalanche was practically upon them.

Alan was closest.

He didn't even think about it.

A distant shout from Scott barely even registered with him as leapt out of the path of safety and got an arm around the little girl. She clung to him in a death grip as he lifted her up and headed back towards the CAT...

But it was too late.

Alan met Scott's terrified stare just as the wave of snow collided with him and ripped him away. He curled protectively around the girl in his arms as they were tossed about like a boat on the ocean; aware of nothing but the deafening roar and bludgeoning cold. Disorientated, it felt like they were tumbling forever, pummelled on all sides.

Desperate to find some way to anchor them and end the dizzying experience, Alan let go of the girl with one arm to hunt his person for something to help; his hand closing around the ice pick that was stashed in his belt for mountain rescues. And then suddenly they were in free fall – and Alan knew exactly where they were.

Snow and rocks showered around them as they dropped into the chasm, towards the promise of a very messy end. A loud _crack_ echoed around Alan's helmet, making his ears ring, more rocks battering against him as he tried his best to shield the girl.

Praying that they were close enough to the cliff face, Alan blindly struck out with the ice pick. He was rewarded with the grating sound of metal scraping rock, the tip skittering down the face of the chasm but unable to find enough purchase to slow their descent. He didn't know how far they fell before finally, _finally_ , the pick caught deep enough on something solid to bring them to a jarring stop.

The abrupt halt yanked hard at his arm and pulled his joints out of place with a horrible _pop,_ the pain almost making him drop the girl and let go. Thankfully she was gripping him so tight that his momentarily loosened hold barely affected her, but he glanced down to check on her anyway. And that was when he saw just how high up they were suspended only by his dislocated arm, and just how far they still had to fall if he gave in to the throbbing ache and let go.

It was a good thing that he wasn't afraid of heights.

In his arms, the little girl shuddered and hiccuped in fear. Immediately, Alan gripped her a little tighter, trying to offer as much comfort as he could given their incredibly precarious position. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay."

Tears pooled in the little girl's eyes. "I want my mommy!"

"I know," Alan replied, silently adding a ' _me too'_. "You'll see her soon, okay? My brothers, they're the _best._ All we gotta do is hold on for a little while and then they'll come save us."

The girl looked up at his injured arm and his pained expression, seeming to understand far more than a six-year-old should. "You won't let go?"

"Promise."

* * *

Gordon watched in muted horror as his only younger brother was ripped away from him by something as supposedly innocent as snow. He felt hollowed out and helpless as Virgil hugged him close and kept them both in the shelter of the CAT as the avalanche continued to thunder over them like a waterfall. Despite the monstrous roar of mother nature, all that he could hear was utter deathly silence; his heart stilled in his chest and his breath caught in his throat.

When the landslide finally stopped, the shocked silence continued, all eyes studying the fresh layer of deceptively still snow for any sign of the youngest Thunderbird and the little girl.

Alan was only _fifteen._

The mother broke down into sobs as her boss attempted to comfort her, spurring the others back into action. Virgil's hold around Gordon's shoulders tightened a moment in reassurance, before he let go and automatically turned to Scott for answers. Scott called for Alan over the radio, but was rewarded with nothing but foreboding static. Gordon numbly staggered forward like a drunk, some instinct guiding clumsy feet as he clambered down the slope.

"John," he distantly heard Scott call over the comms once the lack of reply from their youngest got too much, the barely concealed dread in their Field Commander's voice echoing painfully in their helmets. "Find Alan."

They needed to know where to dig.

" _T-tracking."_

The research station had been re-buried under the fresh onslaught, the only break in the endless white the anchored CAT – like a ridge in a smoothly iced cake. The wind was picking up as Gordon stumbled downward, sifting loose flakes in picturesque wisps. It was too quiet, too idyllically peaceful. It was so wrong to be surrounded by such perfection when everything was so very _not_ perfect.

The closer that he got to the chasm, the more of the yawning divide appeared. Cautiously, Gordon sidled right up to the edge, crouching down as he looked into the abyss below. And there, just visible as he overstretched precariously, was a dash of blue and red.

" _I've got him – his signal is twenty metres south and-"_ John's voice hitched slightly, though later he would blame the static. _"And seventeen metres_ below _your current position. Topography shows a chasm, he's about a quarter-way down it."_

"He went over the edge," Gordon muttered, and then looked up to see Scott and Virgil already on their way over. "We'll need the climbing gear. I'll go get him."

Scott looked set to argue as Virgil backtracked to the CAT, but one look at the blonde and the protest died on his lips. Instead he ordered John to continue to try and raise Alan on the comms while they set up the gear, hoping that the satellite's powerful systems would have a better chance of reaching through the signal distorted by the rock. In minutes they had an anchor in place and the ropes secured, and Gordon in a harness, ready to go.

"I'm coming too," Virgil stated as he set himself up, glancing surreptitiously at the distraught mother watching them with barely disguised hope and fear. They had no confirmation that the girl was even alive, but until proved otherwise they would act as if she were. They all knew that Alan would do whatever he could to save them both – or at the very least the girl. "You can't carry them both."

Gordon shrugged in answer and backed up to the edge, looking to Scott for confirmation before he dropped. From where he was crouched over the anchor, their Field Commander nodded grimly.

And then Gordon was falling, stepping backwards off of the edge and dropping, trying not to think of his only younger brother doing the exact same thing but without the safety of the ropes. The descender on his harness caught, slowing the fall as he swung towards the chasm face and then pushed off again with booted feet. Virgil followed in tandem, the pair of them rappelling carefully but quickly down the mountain, as loose snow and rock sparsely showered them from above.

Using John's co-ordinates, they had designed the descent to bring them on either side of Alan's position, the blue and red of the astronaut's uniform becoming clearer the further down that they went. When they finally dropped parallel with him, revealing just how precariously he was clinging on, Gordon couldn't help but gasp.

Hanging purely from the icepick caught hilt-deep in a crevice, Alan dangled by an arm that looked slightly too long and weirdly deformed – clearly at least one joint was dislocated, if not all of them. His eyes were closed and his face appeared pale and drawn in pain through the cracked plate of his helmet. He was putting everything he had into holding on, his focus so entirely on the task of not letting go that he didn't even notice their arrival.

And there, cradled against his side in her bright pink snow suit, arms wrapped tight around his neck, was the little girl that he had faced an avalanche to rescue.

"Alan?" Virgil called tentatively, gently placing a hand on the arm holding the girl and shaking it a little, while Gordon got an arm around Alan's waist to better brace him. The girl stirred a little, blinking through the shock and likely-hypothermia to look at them.

"He said you'd come," she murmured, her eyes then sliding closed again.

Virgil and Gordon shared a look behind Alan's back, before trying to figure out the logistics of getting them all back up the chasm. As Virgil had ended up on the side where the girl was, it made sense that he would take her. Setting a nut in the cliff wall to provide a temporary anchor, Virgil then had both hands free to take the girl from Alan and get her secured in a harness against his chest. She was small enough that he could climb back up like that; but it wasn't going to be that easy with the baby Thunderbird.

Keeping Alan steady while Virgil worked, Gordon started tying a line around the younger blonde too, securing him in place as it was clear that Alan wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. With a harness tied and threaded through his own, Gordon reached up to try and get Alan to let go of the ice pick, practically having to pry his fingers away from the metal. As the girl was taken out of his arms and his grip was forcibly loosened, Alan abruptly stirred, eyes wild and panicked.

"Woah, easy there, Sprout, we got you," Gordon soothed, gripping his younger brother tighter as Virgil got the girl in place. It took a minute for the aquanaut's voice and presence to register with him, but gradually Alan stilled, breathing heavy as everything caught up with him. Virgil looked at them both apprehensively. "Go," Gordon prompted. "I'll get him ready to transport. You can come back and help me once the girl's safe."

Virgil glared a moment longer. "FAB," he said reluctantly. "Be careful."

"Always." Gordon grinned.

Alan snorted as Virgil began the climb. "S-since when are y-y-you _always_ c-careful?" he jibed through chattering teeth, a mixture of shock, pain and the cold reducing his whole body to violent shivers. He shot Gordon a shaky smile through his cracked faceplate.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well. At least I'm not the one who decided to play hero."

The smile fell a little, turning into a pained wince as Gordon encouraged his severely dislocated arm back against his body. They relied entirely on the rope suspending them who knew how high from the ground as they worked, hands free to create an improvised sling and strap the limb as tight as they could. "N-not my b-brightest mo-moment..." Alan hissed through clenched teeth. "Ssscoott mad?"

The question caught Gordon off-guard, making him glance down at the little brother huddled awkwardly against him. "What? No," he denied vehemently. "Last time I saw him he just looked terrified. You scared the crap out of us."

"S-sorry."

Gordon squeezed a little tighter in a one-armed hug, before glancing up to see how far Virgil had gotten. Apparently, he was part-lumberjack, part-monkey, as the brunette was already near the top and trying to navigate the lip of rock at the edge. He looked back down at Alan and checked the ropes. "Just don't do it again, alright? We're the rescuers here, we're not supposed to need rescuing ourselves."

A low rumble echoed the statement, dread pooling in Gordon's gut as he placed a hand against the rock face and felt it quake.

Alan sighed and sagged a little in his grip. "Y-you were s-saying?"

* * *

Virgil was just clambering over the cliff edge when a blast of static sounded through the comms in his helmet.

" _-ther avalanche-"_ John's voice shouted through, broken up and distorted, but the fear behind the words as clear as day. _"-move now!-"_

Scott was moving before the message had even finished transmitting, skidding down the slope from the locked anchor and hauling Virgil up and onto his feet, the girl still fastened to his harness. As one they ran – hampered by the deep snow but motivated by survival instinct – heading for the shelter of the CAT still so far away from them. Virgil had less than thirty seconds to realise that there was no way that they were ever going to make it, before a second maelstrom of snow and rock tore down the mountain towards them.

Still moving, still clinging to the girl and letting Scott drag him a little faster, Virgil shot his older brother a look that said way more than words ever could.

Sending up a prayer to someone – Mom... Grandpa... Dad ( _please not Dad... he's not dead... just missing...) –_ to look out for Gordon and Alan, to keep _them_ safe if nothing else, Virgil braced himself for what would inevitably come next.

The avalanche tumbled maliciously towards them, crashing up and over the CAT like a wave breaking against rock and then rolling onwards. Rooted to the spot in anticipation and terror, Scott shoved them both to the ground to make them less prominent targets, Virgil having to roll onto his back so that he didn't crush the girl strapped to his chest. In the chaos he barely registered Scott firing his grapple gun at the CAT, ensuring that they wouldn't be dragged down into the chasm like Alan had, but he did feel the reassuring pressure of Scott's knees hooking around him.

And then the avalanche was on them. Thundering against them like hail in a hurricane and doing everything possible to wrench them loose of their desperate human chain. He was all to aware of the pain and the cold and the abrupt darkness as the sun was hidden behind blinding white.

And then he wasn't aware of anything anymore.

* * *

There was the generally held belief among John's brothers, that the Space Monitor had the _easy_ job.

Jokes were common when he was Earth-side and his space legs left him an uncoordinated mess; often ending up tripping over nothing or accidentally letting things go in mid air as he expected them to float (his ongoing feud with gravity). He was the academic, the less socially inclined (the nerd). He wasn't expected to do the heavy lifting or the gruelling rescues. He sat (floated) up in his satellite and watched.

The _easy_ job.

There was nothing _easy_ about listening to the empty static that used to be your brothers.

The first avalanche had hit and they had lost Alan. That had been bad enough. Listening to Scott's forcibly calm voice and knowing just how close his older brother was to losing it, because John had heard him sound like that before (Mom... _Dad...)._ Gordon's unnerving silence and Virgil's stoicism. Watching the vague and simplistic hologram trying to monitor them through heavy interference from hundreds of miles above. The way that they all relied on him to have the answers.

Scott's pained and desperate: _Find Alan._

John had. Despite all of the technical difficulties working against him, John had once again managed to come through for them, the red blip on the hologram that was Alan's signal finally appearing. Okay, so their youngest wasn't answering his comm, that was worrying. But a rescue was under way and the interference was even worse that deep down the chasm and there was _nothing_ to suggest that Alan would be anything other than okay.

Or at least, that's what John had told himself to try and ease the pounding tension headache and the abdominal cramps brought on by the stress.

Everything was going to be okay _(Everything is_ not _okay)._ He was doing everything possible _(He couldn't do a thing)._

And then EOS had chirped a warning and John's attention was called back to the atmospheric readouts he had been monitoring. One glance was all that he needed to absorb the information and know that it was very, _very_ bad.

"Scott!" he had yelled, foregoing the calm, reassuring monotone that he usually went for, and shouting to be heard over the static of the connection. "There's another avalanche! _Move_ _now!"_

"There is a 2% chance that the Virgil Tracy and the Scott Tracy will make it to safe ground," EOS informed him, not able to understand that that was the absolute last thing that John needed to hear right then. Normally, he was reassured by facts and figures, and EOS knew that. She was just trying to help. But the unspoken promise that there was a 98% chance that he was about to become an only child rang loudly in his ears and made his heart pound in his chest.

In orbit miles above the disaster below, John had the _easy_ job of watching all four of his brothers' signals blink out of existence.

_No... please, no..._


	3. Chapter Three

Thirteen years ago, International Rescue was just the initial spark of an idea.

Jeff Tracy had been toying with the concept absently, inspired by a game that his youngest boys used to play, where they flew brightly coloured rockets and saved damsels from distress. He had drawn up a few sketches, had a few daydreams... but _all_ dreams had rapidly vanished from his mind when his worst nightmare came true.

A family skiing holiday ended in tragedy; stealing away his beloved wife and leaving his three-year-old son fighting for his life.

Gradually, painfully, the remaining Tracys had recovered. Raising five boys alone was nobody's idea of easy, but Jeff did a pretty damn good job. His sons teased each other and argued like all siblings do, but they were always there for each other. They were happy and smart and excelled at whatever they chose to do – some tabloid reporter had even once said that the family seemed to have 'the Midas touch' – cursed to forever succeed.

If only that were true.

Five years ago, John Glenn Tracy was a prodigy. At only twenty he had already graduated high school early and earned himself three degrees and was working on his doctorate. He had only ever had one dream: to be closer to the stars that he loved so much, to join them in the endless beyond. He had joined NASA to that end and had fast tracked through their space program, well on course for becoming the youngest man to go to space.

But at the final hurdle, he hadn't made the cut. His intelligence had made him an asset on the ground rather than out there where he wanted to go. A cushy desk job was all that NASA had seen in his future. The overachiever had _failed_ at the one thing that he had ever wanted to do.

The depression hit him hard. Scott often suspects that he never truly recovered.

Four years ago, Virgil Grissom Tracy was kicked out of college. He had only been at the prestigious San Francisco art school for a few months, barely through his first semester, but already he had caught the interest of a talent agent with his piano playing, and was selling a few of his paintings too. But something went wrong. He fell in with a bad crowd, got caught up in the wrong lifestyle, maybe. Even he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that he lost his way.

He was caught. Spent a few nights in lock-up for intoxicated behaviour. Failed a drug test (or two.)

And that was the end of his college experience. Jeff had found out, of course, and got Virgil back on a right road that was particularly straight and narrow. He had then interned at his father's company and earned his degree in mechanical engineering; but it wasn't the life that he would have chosen for himself. And it left him feeling far from whole.

Three years ago, all Alan Shepherd Tracy wanted to be was a Thunderbird. Jeff Tracy's old dream had been rekindled, a late night conversation with his youngest prompting the ex-astronaut to start following through on his wild ideas. Their recently purchased island home started undergoing some serious renovations; what with the construction of underground hangars and magnificent machines.

As such, Alan was the first one to know about what was going on. He was there all through the summer vacation where Brains began building the Thunderbirds. He watched and dreamed in anticipation, desperate to fly the bright red rocket that he had proudly chosen the colour for.

But then he had had to go back to boarding school on the mainland, and by the time that he had returned, his eldest three brothers were beginning their training. _They_ were going to become Thunderbirds.

Alan was _not_. He was left behind.

Two years before International Rescue was being built, Scott Carpenter Tracy was a rising star in the Air Force. He was a fighter pilot, and a pretty damn good one too. A natural, the stuff of legends according to some. He was a dutiful soldier, a great leader and always calm under pressure. His superiors believed that he had what it took to go all the way.

But then he was shot down. Behind enemy lines. On a mission the government that he fought for would later claim that they had nothing to do with.

By the time that he had crawled his way back home again, he was a changed man. He no longer trusted his superiors and found his orders harder to follow. He asked too many questions. They discharged him on 'medical' grounds and took his wings away. And suddenly the natural pilot became a grounded bird.

One year ago, Gordon Cooper Tracy relearned to walk.

At the age of seventeen he had earned a Gold medal swimming in the Olympics – a huge achievement by anyone's standards – but it had come at the cost of his academics. His grades had slipped through a lack of concentration rather than a lack of intelligence, Gordon having decided that college wasn't for him anyway. He chose to follow his love of water instead, enlisting as soon as he was able into W.A.S.P.

He sailed through basic training and was soon on (and under) the open water, running missions and performing rescues. He could see himself doing it for years to come. Before the hydrofoil crash had ripped that dream away from him.

As well as the use of his legs.

The doctors had all said that the damage to his spine was too severe, that he would never walk again. He had believed them, for a time. A pretty damn dark time. He was left in a chair for all eternity. But then one day, Alan had asked him if Gordon was really going to stay down without a fight. He thought his big brother was more stubborn than that. Stronger than that.

It took six months, twelve surgeries and four breakdowns, but by the time that he turned nineteen, Gordon had beaten all the odds. Jeff had then offered him the chance to become a Thunderbird, and his life had begun all over again.

Because that's what it was all about really. Jeff's dream. Even when Alan had been a toddler babbling about zooming red rockets while sitting on his father's lap, the Thunderbirds had always been about family.

His boys had grown up with dreams of their own, and the Tracy patriarch had never tried to take that away. When they had stumbled, he was there to pick them up. He had given Scott back his wings. Shown John the stars. Allowed Virgil to choose his path and Gordon to start anew. Alan's dreams had come true.

Ultimately, it didn't matter how many people they saved, because they saved each other every day.

It was just that _that_ _day_ , it was a little more _literal._

* * *

The pain made Gordon black out. And it was the pain that woke him back up again.

The avalanche had cascaded down the chasm like a waterfall, and with the force of one too. Snow and rock and ice flooded towards the two dangling Tracys, giving them mere seconds to try and save themselves. Hurriedly, Gordon had shoved Alan against the cliff face, fitting nuts into tiny crevices to anchor them as tight to the wall as he could get them. They huddled there, Alan shielded as best Gordon could manage with his own body, as the torrent roared over them.

It could have lasted seconds or minutes, though it felt more like hours, the pair of them assaulted by the solid rain. It beat at them, scraped them, tore them downwards with such a force that it felt as if literal clawed hands were physically dragging them toward the depths.

The mountain quaked. The nuts groaned in protest. Rocks were shaken loose.

Gordon didn't see what happened. His eyes were closed in pain as the deluge battered them, his focus entirely on holding Alan – keeping his only baby brother safe. But he did hear the _crack_ , loud even over the land slide, and felt the abrupt pull of Alan being wrenched free of his grip. Gordon reached out blindly, but grabbed only at empty air.

And then the rope that he had attached to his brother yanked _hard_ at his harness, and he was falling too.

It was like the world's worst drop ride; his stomach left several metres above him as he was forced to obey gravity. But it was the _stop_ that did him in. The bounce in the ropes negated by Alan's extra weight, he was snapped to a halt; jarring every bone in his body and sending white hot pain ratcheting up his back.

When he came to again, the agony that had previously been his spine was the first thing that he was aware of. Fear shot through him before he could even recall what had just happened, memories of being bed-ridden and wheelchair-bound haunting his semi-conscious mind. To reassure himself that he wasn't stuck there again, he fell back on a habit that he had developed during his recovery. He put everything he had into simply wiggling his toes, almost shouting in jubilation when he felt the constriction of his boots.

And then the cold made itself known, and the fact that he was suspended limply above a fatal drop. And that he hadn't been alone.

"Alan!" Gordon yelled, twisting slightly to look below, crying out in pain as the movement pulled something in his back. He was flopped almost horizontal, suspended from the waist with the harness attempting to spread some of his weight. Hanging from the line threaded through it, maybe a metre or so below him, was Alan.

And he was bleeding.

"Alan! Alan answer me!" Gordon called out in desperation, not even trying to hide the panic in his voice as he tried to wake his unconscious brother. The astronaut's previously cracked face plate of his helmet was now obliterated, the specially reinforced plastic, designed to survive the vacuum of _space,_ destroyed by a second hard impact to the weakened surface. His face was bloodied and cut up by the shards, making it hard to tell just how bad the injury was. But it looked terrifying.

Gordon was close to hyperventilating. He didn't usually freak out like this; he was the 'light hearted' brother. Carefree, maybe a little reckless, the optimist. He was the type to make a joke in the face of adversity and find a quiet moment later to decompress. But as he took in the situation, he was beginning to think that there may not be a 'later'. And as such, he was losing it now.

"G-Gordsss?" Alan slurred, snapping Gordon's focus back to him. "Wha...?"

"It's okay, Sprout," the elder blonde reassured. His voice shook and he was still struggling to breathe like a normal person, but he was a pro at faking confidence. Alan needed that right now. "Just don't move, alright? I'm gonna get us out of here."

_Somehow._

It didn't look good. They had fallen further down the chasm, making the static over the comms even worse than it had been. They couldn't just call for help. (And there was also the worrying possibility that if Scott and Virgil had been in the path of that avalanche, that there wasn't anybody who _could_ help anyway...) Where they had stopped the cliff face veered away from them, making them too far away to brace against the rock, and leaving them with nothing but the rope to keep them from falling further.

They couldn't climb up. Alan only had use of one arm and a likely concussion, and Gordon's back was screaming in agony with every slight movement. They couldn't go down either. The rope just wasn't long enough.

All they could do was wait. And pray that their older brothers could save them.

"Okay..." Gordon breathed, trying to focus on what he _could_ do rather than the rather alarming list of things that he couldn't. He had to look after Alan. The kid was bleeding, and had already been in shock before the second fall. Gordon needed to keep him warm... somehow. But with the way that they had ended up, there was no way that the elder could get down to the younger. Which meant that Alan was going to have to come to him. "Okay. Okay, Sprout... you still with me?"

"It'ssssnot like'can goanywhere elsssse..." Alan retorted.

Good. His sense of humour was still intact. But the stutter being replaced by heavy slurring meant that the shivering had stopped, and that the concussion was potentially pretty bad. Not good.

"I do love a captive audience," Gordon quipped half-heartedly. His efforts were rewarded with a slight twitch of Alan's lips in a close approximation of a smile. "Alright Sprout, I'm gonna need you to do a bit of climbing. Can you do that?"

"Mmmmkay."

Gordon took that as a sound of agreement. Taking a deep breath in preparation for the pain that was about to follow, he reached out for the rope and pulled himself back upright. He couldn't help the cry of agony that escaped him as he changed positions, spasms of pain shooting up his spine and whiting out his vision.

"Gordss?"

Alan sounded worried. Scared. Gordon couldn't allow that. It hurt _–_ _goddamn did it hurt_ – but he couldn't let his little brother be afraid because of him. "It's okay, Sprout."

But Alan wasn't accepting the blatant lie. "Whatssswrong?"

"Nothing Allie," the old pet name slipped out. "Nothing's wrong, everything's okay. I'm okay."

More meaningless platitudes fell from Gordon's lips as he tried to breathe through the pain, though of who he was trying to convince neither one of them were sure. "Yourback..." Alan deduced even as his older brother continued to mutter. "I'hurtsss... I hurtssyour back? Imsssorry..."

Oh, jeez. Now the kid felt _guilty_ on top of everything.

Gordon came back to himself, the pain lessening to only a mildly excruciating ache that he forced himself to mostly ignore. That wasn't even the _hard_ part. "It's not your fault, Sprout, alright? Don't worry about it," he instructed, looking down at his little brother. Now that he was upright, his legs were next to Alan's chest, their hands within reach of each other with a little stretching. "Okay, now, I'm gonna pull you up to me, but I'm gonna need you to put some effort in too, okay?"

"Kay," Alan mumbled as he extended his good arm up towards Gordon. Their hands caught, both of them grunting in pain as they manoeuvred themselves around - Alan literally using Gordon's foot as a foothold - until they finally ended up at the same height and facing each other. With the younger's arm slung across the older's shoulders, and the older's arm wrapped around the younger's waist, it looked as if they were locked in a dancer's hold. "Heh," Alan scoffed. "Bro-hug."

Gordon grinned. "And you say that we never hang out together anymore."

"Mmmaybenext'time... lessssliteral?"

* * *

"VIRGIL!"

The Tracy in question whipped around at his name, his quick eyes taking in the situation in a second. He was still standing beside the CAT, the researchers packed away inside and the little girl bundled in blankets and back in her mother's arms. All they had to do now was bring Gordon and Alan up too, but one look at Scott, and Virgil knew that _that_ was the problem.

His oldest brother was dangerously near the cliff edge, crouched down with his legs half-buried in the deep snow. In a straight line leading from behind him up towards the CAT, the snow had been dug back, revealing the anchor and rope. It wasn't going to hold.

Virgil was already running, the Claws of Life still fitting around his person, when the rope snapped. Scott was jerked forward as he suddenly took all of the weight, but he _just_ managed to hold it. Virgil could smell blood as he dropped down next to Scott, the friction from the rope having shredded the skin of his exposed fingers. The older brunette winced once Virgil had the mechanical hands around the rope and Scott could let go, peeling his grip away carefully.

"You got it?" Scott confirmed, checking that Virgil was as well braced as he was going to get. "Pull them up."

Virgil hesitated, wanting nothing more than to do just that, but knowing that it might not be the smartest move. "If they're injured, we could make it worse..."

"If the rope _breaks,_ they're _dead."_

Silence followed that, both of them flinching at the words and the image that it painted. "Look, Scott. They're probably unconscious, unable to properly protect themselves. Do you really want me to drag them face first along the cliff? And with Gordon's back, do you really want to see him back in that chair?"

Scott huffed, hearing the logic but hating it. "John?"

The Space Monitor seemed to know exactly what he was asking for, because he immediately answered. " _The interference is too severe, I can't get through. I can barely read their trackers, let alone talk to them."_

"Okay." Scott sighed in frustration, trying to think. "Okay. Okay, let me try something."

Virgil watched his brother with furrowed eyebrows as Scott abruptly climbed to his feet and walked right up to the edge. And then stepped off.

"SCOTT!"

Virgil almost let go of the rope as his heart leapt up in his throat. For one horrifying moment, he honestly believed that his brother had just thought _'screw it'_ and jumped, choosing to simply join their youngest in their inevitable demise. But then it had dawned on him that Scott really wasn't that kind of person ( _waaaay_ to stubborn for that), which was when he saw the grapple of the eldest brother's grapple gun embedded in a protruding rock.

"Dammit Scott," Virgil hissed through the comms. "You gave me a heart attack."

" _Me too."_ John added from space. _"Can you see them?"_

" _Yeah... just..."_ Scott's voice crackled, even the short distance down the chasm that he had dropped messing up the signal. _"Give me a second."_

Patiently, Virgil waited. It was a lot longer than a second before Scott came back to them, but Virgil was willing to forgive that if they could all get home. The Claws were doing most of the hard work, but they still required a degree of strength from the user, especially as it was purely Virgil's legs that were stopping all three of the youngest Tracys from tumbling into the abyss. Kneeling waist deep in freezing snow was making him feel cold and achy; wary of the darkening sky and quickening winds.

" _They're conscious,"_ Scott announced, sounding relieved. _"Ready to move."_

"How the hell do you know that?" Virgil asked incredulously.

" _Flashlights and Morse code,"_ was the almost smug reply. _"It's dark- nough to signal. Pull them up, Virg-. I'll keep an eye on them."_

Following orders, Virgil began winching the rope, trying to keep the pace as smooth as possible. His muscles protested the movement; his whole body was starting to shiver violently from the cold and he was pretty sure that his bruises had bruises by this point, but he ignored all of that and got lost in the rhythm. With every pull he was bringing his little brothers closer to safety, and that was all that mattered.

" _Virgil,"_ John's voice broke through. The white noise over the connection was sounding thicker, making Virgil have to strain to hear. _"You need - hurry. The weather system- ight on you. Can y- hear m-? V-g-l?"_

A rumble from overhead confirmed John's warning. The sky was growing darker and darker with every passing minute, like the foreboding prelude to the coming apocalypse; the temperature dropping like a stone as the last of the day's sun vanished behind thick clouds full of snow. They were in for one hell of a blizzard.

They had to get off of that mountain.

Picking up the pace, Virgil hauled the length of rope as quickly as he could; ignoring the straining pistons of the Claws and the numbing cold freezing his legs.

" _Slo- tt d- V-g-"_ the static drowned out Scott's instruction. _"We- at th- lip. Got- help th- climb."_

Thankfully, Virgil was vaguely able to translate the garbled message, slowing down slightly as Scott tried to assist their younger brothers with the final part of the climb. The cliff edge jutted out slightly, making it harder to navigate, but after a few minutes Virgil finally spotted a blue gloved hand pawing over the top.

Once all three of them, Gordon, Alan and Scott, were all back on solid ground, Virgil dropped the rope and hurried over. His joints were frozen stiff, but he didn't care about that as his medic's eyes studied the two blondes collapsed in the snow. Alan's dislocated arm was strapped against his chest and several cuts were bleeding freely on his face, but that wasn't nearly as worrying as his practically blue lips. Gordon didn't visibly look too worse for wear, but his face was scrunched up in pain through his helmet's visor.

"Gordyss'ssback..." Alan slurred as Virgil knelt down to check on them. One blue eye opened blearily, the other glued shut with blood. "Ihurtsss Gordyssback."

Scott shot Virgil a look, silently asking just how bad it was. Virgil shrugged, and then pointedly looked up at the near-black sky. "We gotta move quick. The storm's on us. Get Alan up to the CAT and then come back with a stretcher."

It wasn't often that Scott followed Virgil's orders rather than the other way round, but when it came to a medical situation, Virgil was their closest expert, and Scott was smart enough to obey (except when it came to his own health, that is.) The eldest Tracy came to kneel beside the youngest, gently positioning the good arm over his shoulders and then hooking his hand under Alan's knees so that the blonde was cradled against his chest.

As Scott moved back up the mountain as quickly as he was able, Virgil turned his attention back to Gordon. "Hey, Fish Face," he prodded lightly, rapping a knuckle against his face plate in a _'knock, knock'_ gesture. "Talk to me."

Gordon groaned and reluctantly blinked his eyes open to slits. "Can't talk. Dying now. Come back later."

Virgil smiled a little at the Gordon-esque attempt at humour, but it was gone almost as soon as it had formed. He leaned down a little closer as his hands gently probed his younger brother, checking for anything broken. "Be honest," he ordered. "How bad is the pain?"

The fact that Gordon refused to answer told Virgil exactly what he needed to know.

"Alright," Virgil mumbled, quietly enough that his voice was stolen by the wind that was starting to howl. Carefully, he began the task of removing Gordon's helmet, making sure that his little brother's eyes were on him as he spoke. "Most likely, you've just pulled something in your back, but I'm not gonna take the risk. I'm gonna get you on a backboard and C-collar..." Gordon's eyes widened, his breath shortening in the beginnings of a panic attack. "...but it's not gonna be like last time, okay? I promise, Gords, it's just a precaution."

'Last time' still gave all of the brothers nightmares. None of them had been present at the time of the hydrofoil crash, but all of them had witnessed the aftermath. Seeing the usually incessantly moving blonde abruptly, _forcefully,_ still... it was just so _wrong_. And Gordon hadn't been entirely the same since. Lying in that bed, relegated to the wheelchair, being told that he would never walk again... it had broken a part of him. And even once he had overcome it all, that part had never truly been fixed.

He was terrified of being immobile.

 _Terrified_ of being constricted like _that_ again. Strapping him to a backboard was going to be fun.

"I can... still move..." Gordon stated, his breath hitching as he fought for control. Virgil wasn't entirely sure if the aquanaut was reassuring him or himself, but he nodded in agreement regardless, a hand carding through blonde hair now that the helmet was gone. Gordon winced. _"Ow..._ can still... _feel_. That's... that's good... right?"

"Yeah, that's good, Fish Face," Virgil said soothingly. His calm voice was helping Gordon to fight off the panic attack before it could truly take hold, the blonde relaxing slightly despite the pain.

Gordon squinted up at Virgil searchingly. "And Allie's okay, right?" he asked, sounding way too young in that moment and making Virgil grip his little brother's hand protectively. He hadn't had that long to know for certain that Alan was alright, but the kid had been conscious and coherent, so the head injury hopefully wasn't as bad as it had looked. His arm though... _that_ was going to take some fixing. But Virgil just smiled in confirmation, praying that it wasn't a lie. "Allie's okay. So even if... even if I am... It was worth it cause Allie's okay."

Virgil swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling both incredibly proud and inherently guilty. It should have been _him_ to stay behind with Alan, not Gordon. _He_ was the older brother, supposed to take care of them. But it was also true that Gordon was a big brother too.

"You did good, Gords," Virgil smiled. "You did good."

By the time that Scott returned with the stretcher, the first of the fat heavy flakes were beginning to fall. The wind fought them as the two brothers secured the third and battled their way up to the CAT, the storm endeavouring to send them plummeting back the way that they had come. Finally, they made it. They clambered in through the side door and slammed it shut behind them, before then having to place Gordon's stretcher on the floor as the two benches were already occupied.

"I'll drive," Scott stated, already climbing over the seats to put himself behind the wheel.

"I call ssshhhotgun," Alan added. He was curled up on the bench tucked behind the driver's seat; one of the researchers having wrapped him in a blanket and warming him up just enough that the blue tinge was starting to fade from his lips. The remains of his helmet were gone too, revealing the blood matted up in his blonde hair and his starkly pale skin. Scott gently ruffled a clean patch of hair with injured fingers before he started the engine, making his little brother grin.

Virgil smirked from where he was knelt next to Gordon and loaded up a syringe that the latter was eyeing suspiciously. Now that they were no longer alone, it seemed that Gordon was going to play his part of problematic patient; though Virgil suspected that he was just putting on a show for Alan's benefit. If he was well enough to argue then he was going to be _just fine._ "What's that?"

"Just a muscle relaxant," Virgil explained. "It will help with the pain."

"It's gonna make me loopy, isn't it?"

"It will probably just knock you out, to be honest."

Gordon grimaced, clearly not liking the idea of checking out early, especially via a nasty injection. "Shouldn't you be focusing on the Sprout right now?" he asked the medic. "He looks like he needs a needle more than me."

Virgil huffed, about to launch into a lecture, but Alan beat him to it. "We've got'a two hours-plusss drive through a blizzzzzard over rough 'errain, then another hour flight'ith Sssscott flying TB2 like he thinkssshe's a rocket. Take'he needle Gordsss'n'sssleep. Atleast _you_ can." He took a breath as he came to a stop, his skin looking a little green as the CAT shook about under the storm. "Ugghhh. Concusssionssssuck!"

Suitably chastised, or at least, _distracted_ by Alan's spiel, Gordon didn't notice Virgil sticking him with the needle, though he did shoot the medic a weirdly mixed look of both relief and betrayal as the drug took effect and dragged him under. Virgil smiled at Alan. "Nice one, Sprout."

"Ugh," Alan agreed. "I'm gonna'throw up."


	4. Chapter Four

_ "I'll  _ _fly her."_

Alan shot a one-eyed commiserative look at John's hologram as the red head was completely ignored by Virgil and Scott. The pair of them were bickering over who would pilot TB2; or rather, Scott was insisting that _he_ would fly while Virgil looked after the invalids, while Virgil was arguing that Scott _was_ an invalid with his shredded fingers.

"I drove the CAT!" Scott retorted, madly gesturing with a bloodied hand. His fingers really did look terrible – at the very least a layer of skin was gone, leaving some very raw and swollen looking digits behind. Driving the CAT, while a necessity, definitely hadn't helped. Alan winced sympathetically at the thought of even moving them at all, let alone gripping a steering wheel.

"You shouldn't have even done that!" Virgil snapped right back. The two brothers were causing quite a scene in the medbay of the giant green Thunderbird. Alan was surprised that they hadn't woken up even a heavily sedated Gordon. The two blondes occupied a gurney each on one side; the little girl, Amelia, and her mother, curled up together on another opposite. Most of the researchers were still in the hold waiting for launch, but Tom, the boss, hovered in the doorway like the brunettes of International Rescue were a spectator sport.

"Uh, the storm is getting-" he attempted to interrupt.

"You need to stay here and look after them," Scott pointed out. Loudly. "Who else is there other than me?"

John's hologram scowled. _"I'll fly her."_

"I am not letting you get blood all over my cockpit," Virgil snarled. Alan grinned to himself as the feuding brothers completely missed seeing John huff before his floating avatar flickered off. The lead researcher shuffled off quietly while Scott and Virgil looked one wrong word away from a fist fight. "Now sit down so I can at least go up there and get us off the ground before we're snowed in!"

"And then what?" Scott questioned challengingly. "The storm's too heavy for the autopilot to handle, and you're needed down here. Stop being so damn stubborn-"

" _I'm_ stubborn?"

Thunderbird Two's engines hummed as they came online, but the low vibrations went totally unnoticed by the arguing Tracys. Alan opened his mouth to warn them, but then decided against it.

"Yes _you_. Why can't you just _listen_ to me for once?" Scott snapped.

Alan grabbed the rail of his gurney, passing a glance at his immediate older brother to double check that Gordon was secure.

" _I_ need to _l_ _isten?"_ Virgil shouted. "At least _I_ don't-"

The green monolith suddenly rocked sideways, _semi-_ intentionally, a gust of wind railing against it as it's distant pilot tried to take off. Scott and Virgil were thrown off of their feet, their fight abruptly stopped mid-fury, much to Alan's amusement. The craft continued to weave a little unsteadily as she rose, buffeted by the storm; right up until the main thrusters were ignited and turning them towards home.

From where they had landed unceremoniously on the floor, Virgil and Scott shared a look, before the latter huffed and activated the comms. "Johnny!"

John's avatar projected from the wall, the space bound Tracy looking down at his still-sprawled brothers with a completely straight face. _"Yes Scott?"_

"Are you flying my bird?" Virgil asked darkly.

" _I am,"_ John nodded. _"I hacked your remote access control because if I hadn't you never would have gotten off of that mountain. Now, I've radioed ahead to let the authorities know that we're coming - we'll drop the researchers off in Italy - and then the autopilot can take over for the route home."_

"You're coming down?" Virgil guessed, a little grouchily. He still looked put out about being totally overruled, and was most definitely not comfortable with John flying Two from outer space, but he was also practical. The solution made sense, and so he wouldn't argue. Yet. Once they were all home and patched up he was going to complain as bitterly as he damn well pleased. And there had better not be a single scratch!

John looked pointedly at the three Tracys currently needing medical treatment. _"You're going to need all the help you can get."_

Alan was still giggling his head off from watching his brothers get schooled, the fit broken up by the occasional squeaked _'owwww'_ as it pulled at various injuries. He felt as if he had been put through a blender – not an inch of him seemed unbruised, his head was hurting like hell, he was beyond exhausted and his _arm_... The entire limb felt as if it were on fire; the slightest twitch of movement sending an agonising throb from neck to fingertips. But he was still laughing anyway because, well, the indignant look on Scott's face was _priceless._

Both older brothers scowled at him, severely enough to shut Alan's giggles up with an startled hiccup. The youngest blonde grinned innocently at them, and then winced.

Immediately, the smother brothers were on him.

"Your arm?" Virgil confirmed even as he took a seat on a stool and started probing the injury. Scott perched on the edge of Gordon's gurney so that he could oversee both of the injured blondes, his brow furrowing in concern. "I'm pretty sure that it's not broken; only severely dislocated at the elbow and shoulder..."

" _Only..."_ Alan grumbled as he was poked and prodded. He fought off a yawn that would have been wide enough to make his jaw crack. Man, was he tired.

Virgil continued as if he hadn't heard him. "...I'll need to do some scans before I try and set it, but that'll have to wait until we get home."

"Can't you give him anything for the pain?" Scott asked.

The medic shook his head. "Not with the head injury. I think that it's only a mild concussion – the helmet took the brunt of the impact – but I don't want to run the risk of making it worse until I've run the tests. That means that you have to stay awake, okay? Any other injuries you want to tell me about?"

Alan blinked as he was directly addressed, only just realising that his eyes had closed. He glared at Virgil who was looking at him knowingly, an eyebrow raised in question. "Uh... my ribs, I guess?" Alan half-shrugged, knowing that it was useless even attempting to hide things from the family nurse. At least the slur was gone. He must have been starting to warm up, even though he still felt like an ice cube. Now he was just shivering and mumbling, his voice thick with the sleep that he so desperately needed. "It's hard to tell. I just feel like one giant bruise."

Virgil instantly starting running checks, Scott watching him like a hawk the entire time, before he settled back on the stool beside the gurney. "Breathing seems fine, blood pressure's a little high, though that's probably the hypothermia. I think your ribs are just bruised, not broken. It will hurt for a while, but otherwise, I think you're fine."

Alan nodded and slouched slightly in the blanket he was huddled in, his eyes once again closing.

"You still can't go to sleep though," Virgil instructed, nudging him gently.

"Meanie."

Virgil rolled his eyes even as Scott snorted, choosing to ignore the comment. "Now lay back," he ordered. "We'll get your face cleaned up."

Between the three of them, they managed to get Alan settled against a couple of pillows in a somewhat comfortable position, and then Virgil got out the tweezers. Alan had yet to see the extent of the damage done by the shattered face plate, but his skin felt sticky (most probably from the drying blood) and his face stung. They fell into silence as Virgil concentrated on removing the shards of plastic embedded in his cheek and forehead, which left Alan's thoughts free to wander.

"Gordy's okay, right?" he asked quietly, glancing sideways at his unconscious brother.

Scott and Virgil shared a look, which didn't fill Alan with reassurance. At all. "Yeah, Sprout," Scott answered. "The fish is fine. Doc reckons he just pulled some muscles in his back." He gestured at the neck brace and restraints keeping Gordon still. "All this is just a precaution."

It felt like a white lie. His older brothers had been telling them to him pretty much all of Alan's life; he recognised the false tone. He knew that they just did it to protect him, because he was the youngest and all that, but he wished that they wouldn't. More often than not, it just made him feel paranoid.

Most likely, Virgil was right, and Gordon really had just strained something. The hesitation was probably just the fact that he couldn't be 100% sure until they got home, _and_ the fact that it was Gordy's _back_... well, it was a painful memory and a scary subject for all of them. But why couldn't they just _say that_ , rather than the vague half-truth that left Alan fearing that his older brothers were covering for something far _worse_.

"I'm sorry," Alan practically whispered, making Scott squint at him as he struggled to hear. "I didn't mean to hurt him, that wasn't... I thought I had enough time, to grab the girl and get back. I didn't mean to put everyone in danger like that. I didn't mean to get Gordy hurt."

Alan's good eye was suddenly hot and misty, and the youngest Tracy realised that he was about to cry. Scott was looking to Virgil, probably having missed most of the quiet confession, but Virgil's attention was on Alan. He had a cloth in his hand about to start cleaning away the blood, but he surreptitiously wiped the teenager's tears instead, saving his dignity with an understanding smile.

"You did the right thing, Al," Virgil told him firmly, leaving no room for argument. "No one is mad at you."

Alan sunk back a little deeper in his pillows, chewing his lip. It wasn't that he didn't believe Virgil, it was just that he couldn't stop blaming himself. He was the one who had caused the mission to go so wrong, after all. He was the one that had put all of his earth-side brothers in danger trying to rescue him. He was the reason why Gordon was hurt and Scott's fingers were chewed up and Virgil was so worried. It was his fault. They _should_ be mad at him.

He had screwed up.

He had never felt more his age than he did right then. He was young, he was going to make mistakes, he understood that. But those mistakes had consequences. They had gotten away with it this time (as long as Gordy was okay... _please_ let Gordy be okay...) but what about next time?

"There, done," Virgil announced, dropping the cloth stained pink with Alan's blood on the trolley. And then his attention turned to Scott who was beginning to absent mindedly pick at the loose skin on his fingers. "Okay, gross." the medic stated. "Your turn. Sit."

Scott raised an eyebrow at being addressed like a dog, but wisely chose not to argue with the medic as he took a seat on a stool between the two occupied gurneys. Virgil, however, seemed to have little more difficulty. Having stayed still for so long taking care of Alan, it seemed as if his strained muscles from using the Claws had seized up. Both Alan and Scott watched him suspiciously as the middle Tracy limped around, partially using his own stool for support as he pushed it ahead of him and sat down again.

"What?" he asked in the face of two questioning glares.

"What's wrong with your legs?" Scott demanded like an angry mama bear.

Virgil shrugged. "Nothing," he denied. "They're just still defrosting is all."

Scott didn't look like he believed Virgil for a second, but he was distracted from further questioning by the sound of Thunderbird Two beginning landing procedures; John's voice announcing over the comms that they had reached the researchers' stop.

"Stay," Virgil ordered, most likely at all of them, but the glare landed squarely on Scott. He slid off of the stool with a slight grimace as weight was put back onto his aching legs, but he was off and moving before Scott ever got a chance to argue. "I'll go make sure that they make it off okay."

Alan watched his middle brother go, the limp still prominent despite the brunette's attempts to hide it. They all had a bad tendency to overlook Virgil when he was injured; especially Virgil himself. For them it was just so rare that anything seemed to get to the broader built Tracy; he wasn't as accident prone as Scott could be when he was too focused on a rescue, nor was he as notorious as Alan and Gordon were for getting into trouble, and as such he was the least likely to be hurt. And Virgil, well... he could dish out the nurse routine on his brothers, but he would do _anything_ to avoid being on the receiving end.

But Scott was onto him now. And the Chief Smother Hen would never let it go.

"Mr Thunderbird?" a young voice broke through Alan's sleep deprived thoughts, snapping his eyes open again. He looked up slightly to find Amelia looking down at him from the safety of her mother's arms. "Thank you for saving me, mister."

Alan grinned at the little girl. "Just try not to fall off any more mountains, okay?"

"Promise," Amelia replied with a smile to match. Her mother added her thanks as well, before Virgil came back to guide them down to the hospital's heliport. Alan settled back against his pillows, content that at least _one_ good thing had come from that _long_ day, before noticing Scott watching him. Alan thought he saw a flicker of pride in his brother's gaze, but then the brunette smirked teasingly.

"You're blushing, Sprout."

"Shut _up,_ Scooter."

* * *

Once the autopilot had taken over control of Thunderbird Two, John allowed himself to take his first full breath in what felt like forever.

But the cramping in his abdomen didn't agree with that.

His stomach tightened painfully as hot bile shot up his throat, the foul taste of vomit filling his mouth even as he fought to keep it down. Throwing up in zero-g was a terrible idea – something that he had learned the hard way more than once before. It got clogged up in the filters and the recycled air meant that he would be smelling it for weeks. Not pleasant, that.

"John...?" EOS' childlike voice asked in concern. John couldn't do much more than groan in reply, as preoccupied as he was with trying _not_ to spill his stomach contents all over the place. But EOS seemed to understand (this wasn't the first time after all) as she activated the gravity ring and quickly, but gently, brought John down to the surface.

As his knees touched the glass, the slow spin of the satellite not doing anything to help the sickening nausea, John quit fighting. His stomach contracted violently, tight enough to make it feel as if he were being pulled inside out, the remainder of that morning's bagel splattering across the view of the Earth a thousand miles below. On all fours he wretched until there was nothing more to give... and then wretched a bit more, the dry heaves practically tearing him apart.

Finally, he slumped, all strength abruptly gone from gangly limbs and his lungs panting for breath.

"John..." EOS said after a few tense moments. The droids that she had already activated whizzed out of their cubbyhole and began cleaning up the mess that John had made, but the smell still lingered, threatening to send him heaving again. "I am not sure that this is normal human physiological behaviour. Perhaps I should inform the Scott Tracy of your condition-"

"No!" John snapped, his normally calm and polite demeanour going to same way as his breakfast. _"Don't_ tell Scott. I'm _fine._ I'm not sick or anything."

EOS' camera lens eclipsed in what John had learnt portrayed confusion. "Then why do you vomit so often?" she asked innocently. "Your headaches are near constant, you fail to maintain a regular sleeping or eating schedule and my sensors indicate that your blood pressure is unnaturally high. I do not understand how you can have the symptoms of an illness and not be suffering from one. Explain."

"It's because I have the _easy_ job," John sighed a little bitterly, before shaking his head and forcing himself back to his feet. "It doesn't matter, EOS. Can you start the pre-launch checks for the elevator, please? I've got to get cleaned up."

EOS created a disappointed _'hmph'_ sound (that she had totally learned from from John) as she did as she was told, but was clearly unhappy about it. John rolled his eyes, but then felt guilty for it. EOS was only trying to help after all. And sometimes it was nice to have someone who could actually see that there was something wrong, someone (something) that could show (imitate) concern... unlike his family.

 _Stop that._ John scolded himself as he focused on walking in the newly restored gravity. His body was still shaking from the aftermath of the violent heaves, and he felt cold despite the specially regulated environmental controls. _You only just got them back, don't start blaming them just because_ you _can't handle it._

It was his choice, after all, to live up in space as much as he did. He had helped Brains to develop the system that could switch TB5 to auto, and with EOS as well as on an on-site operator, he could easily stay on Tracy Island practically full time. He would still have to make runs out for maintenance and whatnot, so it's not like he would be completely Earth-bound... Technically, he could have his cake and eat it too.

That wasn't the problem.

The problem was _Earth._ It was more psychological than anything, John knew, but setting foot on solid ground always made him feel ill (beyond the normal side effects of gravity on a body adapted to zero-g, that is). He always felt weighed down, or maybe anchored? Trapped, is probably the best description. Like he was being held down, some unseen force tangled around him and preventing him from moving freely. It was all psychosomatic, some leftover dregs of the depression that he had conquered-

(And _yes_ , he _had_ conquered it, dammit!)

He missed his family. He missed his home. But he felt freer up with the stars, away from the failure that so doggedly haunted him whenever he settled on terra firma. And usually, playing the distant roll of dispatcher wasn't so bad. Usually, being able to bury things under the guise of being 'professional' was a fantastic escape. Usually, he was connected and needed and helpful, an indispensable part of the team.

Usually, his brothers _answered_.

The sound of empty static was going to fuel his nightmares for a long time to come.

* * *

The Space Elevator had docked around the same time as Thunderbird Two finished its landing procedures, all five Tracys meeting up in the island's underground hangar. Grandma Tracy, Brains and Kayo had met them there too, John having updated them on the condition of the inbound Thunderbirds (after it had been confirmed that everyone was coming home _alive_ that is) and between them all they had managed to get the two blondes settled in the infirmary.

Scott had stayed with them for a while after the scans had been completed and their states of generally good health confirmed, but then he had grown restless, the stress of the day catching up with him. He walked aimlessly around their home, his critical mind going over the rescue and how he should have handled things differently.

He should have told the researchers to go screw their _precious_ equipment, he couldn't help but think bitterly. That had been where it had all gone wrong. They had stayed on the mountain too long, despite the fact that they all knew that it was dangerous, and that decision had nearly cost his brothers their lives. Scott had ignored one his father's golden rules: people were _always_ more important that objects. _Things_ could be replaced. _Lives_ could not.

He just kept letting his old man down.

Scott didn't realise that he had punched a wall until his fragile fingers screamed in complaint. The sharp pain brought tears to his eyes, but damn if he didn't welcome it. He _deserved_ it.

How could he keep screwing up so bad?

Dad trusted him with his brothers, he always had. Ever since they had lost Mom, and maybe even before then, Scott had always been the one to look out for them. It was his job, his duty, his... his damn _purpose_ in life to keep them safe, and yet he kept nearly losing them.

He never should have brought Alan along on the rescue.

There had been no _need_ to, Scott realised. It had been almost automatic that he joined them. The whole team would go, it was decided, and Alan had (at some point that Scott couldn't even recall) become a part of the team. That wasn't how it was supposed to be – that wasn't what Dad had wanted. Alan was just a kid, he was only _fifteen_ for crying out loud. He should be in _school_ , not wearing a uniform and flying a rocket or being killed in an avalanche-

And suddenly Scott was back there again, surrounded by white... watching his baby brother being ripped away and lost under the onslaught. Gone. The look of pure fear replaced by brave acceptance that stared back at the eldest Tracy. _Goodbye._ Digging through the snow desperately... finding the tiny blonde toddler. Blue lips. Not breathing. Gone. Gone. _Gone._

The wall received another hit. Blood seeped through the bandages that Virgil had painstakingly applied. But that was better. That was better than thinking about it.

Scott hadn't dealt with it back then, as focused as he had been on his family. He couldn't deal with it now.

That was it. He wasn't going to let it happen again, he wouldn't put Alan in danger anymore. He was going to do what he should have done in the first place. Thunderbird Three was grounded, Scott would have John put out an announcement or something; International Rescue could no longer perform space rescues due to a mechanical issue or whatever. Alan was going back to boarding school on the mainland and growing up at his own pace. He could become a Thunderbird again when he was ready.

(When Scott was ready.)

"Scott? That you?" Virgil's voice called from a little further down the hall. And that was when Scott realised that he had wandered all the way to the sleeping quarters of the villa, abusing innocent walls frighteningly close to where he could worry younger brothers. Scott just hoped that he hadn't been ranting out loud at the same time, because _that_ could be awkward.

"Yeah," he answered, walking two doors down and poking his head into the middle Tracy's room. And then his jaw dropped. "What the hell, Virg?"

Virgil grimaced a little guiltily from where he was sitting in a t-shirt and boxers on his bed, leaving the bruises on his legs glaringly visible. Barely a patch of exposed skin was anything but bluey-purple, the whole area looking incredibly sore. Scott winced in sympathy, (and a little guilt for not pushing the issue when he had noticed Virgil limping earlier) and then glared at his younger brother. "Why didn't you say that you were hurt?"

"It's not as as bad as it looks," Virgil shrugged. "We've all got bruises, Scott, this is nothing. I think I just pulled a few muscles and I'm aching a bit, but compared to everyone else it's really not that serious."

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then sighed heavily, knowing that it really was pointless arguing with Virgil. He sat down next to the younger brunette, studying the bruises up close. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah, I've done all there is to do," Virgil answered, and then caught sight of the reddening bandages on Scott's fingers. _"What_ did you do to your _hands?!"_

"Oh, uh, I think I caught them on something," Scott lied. Virgil shot him a look that told him exactly how much he believed it, but didn't argue as his attention was more on _fixing_ the damage than on what caused it. In seconds a first aid kit was out and the thoroughly abused digits were being re-cleaned and wrapped; which hurt like hell. _"Ow."_

Virgil smirked. "Well maybe you shouldn't go around punching walls then."

Okay, so maybe he hadn't let the issue drop as much as Scott had hoped.

"Is there any particular reason that you felt the need to pick a fight with inanimate objects?" Virgil asked. Scott sighed heavily, really not wanting to answer. "Come on, Scooter. Talk to me."

Scott blinked at the old nickname, and then shrugged. "It's nothing. Just thinking."

"About...?"

"They're going to be okay, right?" Scott distracted. He really didn't want to talk about the doubts that were running through his head just then, nor his rather drastic decision to ground Alan indefinitely. That was going to be hard enough to sell to the Sprout, without first arguing it with the other brothers. "Gordon and Alan?"

Virgil nodded. "Yeah. There was nothing worrying on Alan's scan, the concussion was pretty mild. I think it was more the pain and adrenaline that made him nauseas than anything. The cuts on his face shouldn't scar too obviously and the bruising should clear up in a few weeks," he explained. "His arm's gonna take a lot longer. It will be in a sling for a while and he'll need to do some physical therapy, but Brains agrees that there shouldn't be any too severe long term damage."

"And Gordon?" Scott prompted uneasily. "I heard you and Brains talking about calling in a specialist."

"The scans aren't showing anything that would imply major damage," Virgil began, but then he scowled unhappily. "But with Gordon's back, I would rather be safe than sorry. I am pretty sure that its nothing too serious, but I'm calling in his doctor from the mainland anyway. I can't put him back in that chair again, accidentally or otherwise."

Scott agreed with that sentiment. Silence settled between them for a little while as the pair of them grappled with old memories; the near-year of Gordon broken and listless a painful image to bear. And it just felt like one more nail in Scott's coffin, the guilt suffocating him as if he were buried once again under the snow. Potentially crippling Gordon again (maybe _he_ should be grounded too...), nearly losing Alan, ignoring Virgil's injuries and John...

"John's lost weight," Virgil said suddenly, as if reading Scott's mind. "I mean, he's always been skinny, but not _that_ skinny."

"I noticed," Scott agreed. "I was hoping that it was just the whole living in space thing, but after today..."

"You heard him over the comms," Virgil murmured worriedly, his gaze drifting to the door across the hall. John's room was practically a guest room with how little time he spent planet-side, but somehow, the distance between them now felt like far further than it did when he was up in the satellite. "I've never heard him sound that panicked before. I mean, I'm not faulting him or anything. It was bad enough being there, let alone miles away without knowing what was going on, it's just that... I don't know. It scared me, I guess."

"I think today scared all of us," Scott admitted quietly. "And it's going to for a while yet."


	5. Chapter Five

The next couple of days passed without incident. It was as if they were each trapped in their own worlds, trying to deal with what had happened; _and_ battle the demons that had been dragged to the surface by the snow. They barely spoke to anyone beyond polite small talk and the automatic question/answers regarding their relative conditions. They were all lying, to themselves and to each other.

And Virgil had had enough.

International Rescue was officially offline for the foreseeable future. EOS up in Five was redirecting any distress calls to the relevant help while Tracy Island simmered in the aftermath. Alan was up and about, though he was far too quiet (unnaturally so) and sporting a sling that served as a stark reminder of what had happened. Gordon was still bed-ridden, waiting on the arrival of the specialist before Virgil even considered allowing him out of the infirmary (though the blonde had yet to complain).

It was unnerving.

The quiet. The stillness. The weird aura in the air. All of it. The brothers drifted like ghosts, lost in their own thoughts and memories and deep-seated issues. But it was going to stop.

Virgil was a man on a mission. He decided to start with the easiest brother, (though that description may have been borne of the distance between them that had developed both figuratively and literally over the past few years) and knocked on John's door. He got nothing but silence in reply, but that was fairly normal of the red-headed Tracy. If Space Case didn't want to talk then he literally wouldn't, not even to tell the brother banging on his door to buzz off. Usually, the lack of an answer would be enough to inform them to leave him alone, but Virgil was not so easily dissuaded.

Activating the door sensor, He strode into the fifth bedroom without invitation. It was almost exactly as it had been when they had first relocated to the island; all of the rooms having been done up like a show home for their arrival, and with the personality of one too. It was all luxury, high end furniture of course, but it just felt so cold and non-lived in, without a single tell to say that it belonged to John Tracy. No nerdy posters, no books, no clothes strewn about like his old room back in Kansas...

Jeez, it was more of a hotel room than a home.

And John wasn't there either, making Virgil feel more like an intruder than a well-meaning (though unwelcome) guest. Backing up, he headed back towards the door, almost leaving without hearing the strained choking sound coming from the en-suite. Almost.

"John?" Virgil called, approaching the bathroom door cautiously. The elder brother didn't answer, but his heavy breathing hitched, followed by the distinct sound of someone losing their breakfast. Instantly, Virgil was on alert, abandoning caution in favour of letting his medic training kick in. Opening the door, he paused a moment to take in the sight of John slumped next to the toilet, his head practically in the bowl as he threw up the last dregs of his stomach contents. And then he was kneeling next to his older brother, a hand on his back in reassurance and support.

"I'm fine," John gasped weakly between dry heaves, trying to shrug Virgil off though he clearly didn't have the strength to do so.

"Sure you are," Virgil retorted. He waited until the painful sounding heaves subsided before he pulled John back to lean against the side of the bath and started running checks. Temperature, pulse, breathing, awareness...

John waved him off. "I'm not sick."

Virgil shot a meaningful look at the toilet. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered, before standing. He took a quick look at the contents of the bowl before flushing it away, trying to determine if the colour could tell him what was wrong with John. He then filled a glass of water and crouched back down. "Here."

John took the glass gratefully with shaking hands, trying to wash away the acidic taste of bile. Once he had taken a few sips and calmed his breathing somewhat, he met Virgil's worried gaze. "I'm fine."

"You said that," Virgil nodded. "All evidence to the contrary."

The smell of vomit still lingered from the toilet, which was clearly doing nothing to settle John's stomach. Making the executive decision, Virgil took the glass away and then offered John a hand back to his feet. Unsteadily, they made their way out into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, silence falling as they both tried to figure out what to say.

Virgil knew that John was planning on lying. He had almost forgotten how bad the redhead could be for hiding things; he was pretty much on par with Gordon. But while the water-loving Tracy could mask his feelings with a joke and would rather laugh than cry, John simply hid. Everything. He barely showed emotion that didn't feel scripted; his words and facial expressions seemingly carefully chosen rather than heartfelt. Sometimes, it appeared as if he didn't feel at all.

Grandma Tracy had once told Virgil that smart people can come across like that. That it's because they think so far ahead that they can sometimes forget to react to the here and now.

But it was more than that, Virgil thought. He had seen John worried, scared and panicked. He had seen him relieved and proud. Hell, he was one of the few people who had ever heard John's sense of humour, as off-beat as it was. He knew that John did feel and react and care, but for whatever reason, he chose not to show it.

And from what Virgil could see, it was starting to take its toll.

"You need to put some posters up," he said by way of an icebreaker, blind siding John with the non sequitur. He gestured at the stylish bookcase sans any actual tomes. "Get rid of the model home crap and put some books on those shelves. We could get your telescope out of storage, and those old star charts you used to have all over the place. Hell, throw your laundry about or something. It feels like a motel in here."

John blinked, his lips twitching at one corner in the beginnings of a smile. "Never took you for an interior designer."

"Ugh, this room is _too_ interior design," Virgil remarked. "Do you remember back in Kansas when we spent that day sticking glow-in-the-dark stars to your ceiling? You insisted that they had to be placed in genuine constellations or you'd end up going crazy every night wanting to correct them."

"I remember you falling off the ladder when you over reached to finish _Ursa Major,"_ John smirked.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You try to help your less artistically inclined brother out, and what do you get?"

"A concussion."

Virgil snorted a laugh, feeling the tension disappear. He missed this. When they were younger, the pair of them would often stick together, them being the quieter of the Tracy brood. But then John had developed the single-mindedness that came with ambition, and Virgil had felt left behind. It was all a part of growing up, he knew. It was nigh on impossible to stay close when each of the brothers' paths had led in such different directions. But even once they had been brought back together again as International Rescue, a part of John had never really returned.

"What's going on with you, Johnny?" Virgil sighed.

The half-smiled vanished from the red-head's face, his eyes growing distant. "Nothing, Virgil. I'm fine."

"How long have you been being sick?"

"It doesn't matter," John made to stand up, some aborted attempt to literally run away from the conversation, but his limbs were still like jelly and he dropped back down. "It's just the space sickness. Being back on Earth, the gravity... it messes everything up."

Virgil watched his brother carefully; noting the slight tremors and shaking hands, the breathing that was just a touch too fast, and the way that his brows crinkled in the sure sign of a headache. It was true that balance problems and muscle deficiency and general nausea were possible side effects of being a spaceman on Earth, but Virgil didn't believe his brother for a second. "Then why are you sick up on Five too?"

John froze at having been caught out, and then glared at Virgil questioningly.

"EOS gave you away," Virgil explained. "She didn't betray you or anything, but she can't lie _at_ _all._ I just asked her a few leading questions that she refused to answer. Congratulations, Space Case. You managed to teach an AI loyalty _and_ concern," he paused, suitably impressed. "Now tell me the truth."

John shifted uncomfortably, his eyes glancing to the door as if calculating his chances of escape. "It really doesn't matter."

Virgil huffed in frustration. So much for John being the 'easy' brother. Even when cornered he was still trying to deflect and evade. It was time to switch to tougher tactics. "You're not sick," Virgil agreed amiably. "In the strictest sense of the word, that is. But you _are_ making yourself ill. You're stressed and lonely up there and you're not taking care of yourself properly. But you won't ask for help, because as you have told me repeatedly, _you_ _don't matter._ Tell me, Johnny. Do you need to talk to your shrink again?"

" _What?"_ John spluttered, caught completely off guard. "No, Virgil, it's not... _I'm_ not... it's got nothing to do with... wait. How do _you_ know about _that?"_

Virgil just smirked. "Do you really think that there are secrets that _stay_ secrets in this family?"

He was pretty sure that all of the brothers knew about John's depression following his self-proclaimed failure at NASA, it was just that no one ever talked about it. They had all noticed how Scott had changed before he got dismissed from the Air Force. It was impossible to miss Gordon's descent into darkness following his accident. Hell, Virgil was practically certain that they all knew about his complete screw up during his college days... but they also respected each other enough not to bring it up.

"I promise you, Virgil," John said quietly, sincerely. "I'm not in that frame of mind anymore. That... that was just the perfectionist in me realising that I couldn't be perfect. This has got _nothing_ to do with that."

Virgil nodded. "Okay. Then what _is_ it about?"

John saw the corner that Virgil was backing him into a moment too late to dodge it, his greeny-blue eyes studying his little brother appraisingly. It was underhanded to use John's demons like that, but it was the only way that Virgil could figure out to force the redhead to talk. Besides, in his defence, he _had_ tried the nice way first. He gave John a few moments to figure out how to say what needed to be said, waiting patiently for the walls to break down.

"It's just... It's just hard, sometimes," the redhead admitted eventually. "The _easy_ job."

Virgil frowned in confusion, not quite understanding the bitterness in his brother's voice.

"You don't understand what its like," John murmured. "I hope you never do. I know you've seen Scott, and what it does to him, but it's... It's not the same. He makes the decisions in the field. That's his job, and he's good at it. And I'm not saying that it isn't hard for him as well, it's just that... _He_ doesn't send you out there. _I_ do."

John sighed, his fingers tapping anxiously on his jeans. "I receive the distress calls. I determine which ones we answer. I weigh up the risks and the danger, and how likely it is that we will succeed without collateral damage. Scott could override me, of course he could. But he _never_ does. He trusts me so much that he doesn't ever question where I'm sending you to or why. He just accepts it like its an order from on high and that... That just makes the success or failure of _every_ rescue, _my_ responsibility."

Virgil stayed silent as John took a breath, knowing that the slightest interruption could derail the confession and have the redhead bottling everything up forever.

"It was me who sent Alan to an asteroid by the sun, even after nearly getting him blown up by a space mine. It was me who sent Scott to a uranium mine, and Gordon to the bottom of the ocean. I sent _you_ out to the ice on your damn birthday..." John listed the near-misses in a voice heavy with guilt. He hunched over slightly, his arms wrapping around his stomach as if in pain. _"I_ sent you all to that mountain."

Tentatively, Virgil reached out and placed an arm on his brother's shoulder.

"No one answered," John whispered, his voice breaking as tears threatened. "Usually I can help. The distance doesn't matter, because I can see the bigger picture and warn you if something's about to go wrong or, or whatever... But I was just so powerless. I... I thought that you were all _gone._ And it was all _my_ fault. Because I sent you to that mountain to _die."_

The first tear fell and Virgil didn't hesitate to pull John into the tightest hug that he could, trying to reassure his brother that he was there and that they were all okay. He couldn't imagine being in John's position. It was hard enough being faced with the possibility of losing Alan and Gordon. But to honestly believe that all of his brothers, his entire family, was _gone_ , and that it was a decision of his that had caused it...

Virgil didn't blame John for what had happened. He didn't think him weak for breaking down in front of him. He couldn't fully comprehend the pressure placed squarely on his brother's shoulders, but he wished with everything that he had that he could take it away.

"All I can hear is that damn static."

* * *

Gordon sat on his bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, and watched the clock tick.

It had been a week since the rescue, though it felt more like an age to the mostly bed-ridden Tracy. His doc from the mainland had been by and run his tests, confirming Virgil's diagnosis that the damage done hadn't been too serious. But their idea of 'not too serious' was that Gordon wasn't paralysed again. His back had still been all twisted up, leaving him weakened and in constant pain.

He hadn't argued against more bed rest. Even the _thought_ of moving had had him wincing.

Virgil was helping to lead him through the physical therapy exercises that the doc had prescribed; (a daily _punishment_ that left him exhausted) and if he was _supervised,_ he was even allowed to take a dip in the pool. At least he was saved the dignity of taking care of his own plumbing needs, though. A pair of crutches had been provided to help him traverse the distance to the en-suite.

If he wanted to go any farther than that, however, he had to take the _chair._

Gordon shuddered, trying not to look at the ominous wheelchair perched in the corner of the room. For him, it was literally the monster from his nightmares, sitting there and glaring at him mockingly. No matter how many times he told himself that the set-up was only temporary, just until the swelling subsided and he could move without the pain again, he couldn't help but feel that the presence of the chair was a promise. He wished one of his brothers would realise how much it scared him and take it away.

"Hey," Alan greeted as he appeared in the door frame. He looked much better than he had clinging to the side of a mountain, but the scars were still visible. The cuts on his face stood out red-raw against pale skin, his arm still trapped in a sling across his chest. But that wasn't what caught Gordon's attention. Alan's blue eyes were downcast, the mischief gone from them. And that felt like the biggest loss of all. "Scott wants to talk to everyone in the den. You coming?"

"Sure," Gordon answered. His gaze flickered to the chair and he grimaced. "Give me a minute."

Alan stepped into the room, straight past the chair without giving it a passing glance, and collected the crutches from where they were propped against the wall. Offering them like a lifeline, he smiled. "You've got ten. You can manage."

It was phrased as a statement, but Gordon could see the question in Alan's eyes. But there was no doubt. There never was. He believed that Gordon could make the distance on crutches, but if the older brother knew that he couldn't, then he would wordlessly bring the chair over. Alan had always believed in him. It was one of the reasons why he could now walk. No matter what, Alan never treated him any different; like he was fragile or broken or whatever, and Gordon would always love his little brother for that.

He took the proffered crutches and hauled himself onto his feet. "I'll be right there."

Alan smiled and left, knowing that Gordon didn't appreciate an audience, leaving the elder blonde to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn't that far to the den from the sleeping quarters, less than a minute walk. But that was when every step wasn't a lesson in pain and his legs could move like a normal person. As it was, it took him closer to the ten minute deadline that Alan had set him.

"You good?" John asked as he caught up with Gordon at the archway into the den. The blonde simply nodded, too focused on remaining upright to form actual words right then.

As they crossed the threshold, Scott and Virgil shot Gordon twin disapproving glares, but Alan was practically grinning and that was all that mattered really. He navigated the steps and dropped himself carefully into the nearest chair, pasting a smile on his face to cover up the pain that he was in. "So. What's this all about then?"

"We need to talk," Scott answered. "All of us."

Virgil leaned forward from where he was seated on one of the sofas. "About what?"

"About what happens now," Scott answered. He looked at each of them in turn to gage their reactions, and then perched himself on the edge of the coffee table in the centre so that he was more their equal than their leader. "Things have changed, I think we all can sense that, and the uncertainty of where we go from here is just making things worse. So I figured, we should probably make some decisions."

Gordon shifted a little in his seat. He didn't want to draw the attention onto himself, but he had a sneaking suspicion just what one of those decisions might be. They all knew how close he had come to taking a massive step backwards in his life, it would only make sense that Scott would be hesitant to let him back out in the field again. The scary thing was, Gordon wasn't so sure that he would disagree with him. "Such as?"

"Johnny needs to stay Earth-side more," Virgil immediately suggested, which was not what Gordon had expected at all. John glared hard at the middle Tracy, but Virgil remained completely unfazed. "We can activate the automatic system and have EOS man Five the majority of the time. Mission control can be run through Dad's desk again and we could use an extra body on rescues."

Scott looked thoughtful. "John?"

John glared at Virgil a moment longer. "It could be done," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "But it would mean leaving EOS on Five alone for long periods of time. I trust her, but she could get bored. And with Five's resources, that's kinda dangerous. And she can't make judgement calls either, which means that _every_ potential rescue would raise the alarm on the island."

"They don't already?" Gordon asked.

"No," John answered, piercing Virgil with another look as if he blamed the brunet entirely for making him explain this. "Five takes anywhere up to a hundred calls a day, which is impossible for us to respond to. I weigh up the facts and redirect most of the calls appropriately. Minor situations get put through to local emergency services, and calls that are that are too dangerous for us are run through the GDF."

Gordon blinked as he took this in. "You decide what rescues we do?"

"Yes."

The weight of that one word seemed to echo around the den, making them all feel abruptly uncomfortable. Scott cleared his throat. "We can work out a rota that gives John more time Earth-side, maybe rotate duties or something. Sound good?"

Virgil nodded, looking a little smug, while John just grumbled a sarcastic "Sure."

"Okay then," Scott sighed. His eyes flickered to Alan, who had remained weirdly silent throughout the whole conversation, and then settled on Gordon. "What do you want to do?"

Scott didn't bother explaining what he meant by that, but Gordon figured that they all knew. There was no point reiterating the fact that he had very nearly ended up back in a chair again for the rest of his life. He had known the risk when Dad had offered him the chance to become a Thunderbird, but at the time, Gordon had been so desperate for validation and freedom that he hadn't really thought it completely through. But he had just been painfully reminded of his own mortality. The risks seemed more real now than they had before.

Was being a Thunderbird still worth potentially losing his legs?

"I don't know yet," Gordon replied, shrinking a little as four concerned gazes pinned themselves on him. He forced another grin. "It's probably not a good idea to make life decisions while mildly high on prescription painkillers."

"True," Scott agreed with a smirk, lightening the mood a little. But then it was time to address the elephant in the room. "Alan..."

"You're sending me away again, aren't you?"

Gordon looked between Scott and Alan, his eyebrows practically hitting his hairline in surprise. He hadn't seen that one coming, though to be fair, he had had other things on his mind. "What?"

"It's not like that, Allie," Scott said quietly, ignoring Gordon. "You're only fifteen, you should still be in school anyway. It was my mistake for letting you get as involved as you did. The home schooling was only meant to be until... until we found Dad. He didn't want you to be a Thunderbird yet, and I shouldn't have let you."

"Scott..." Virgil muttered in warning, clearly expecting Alan to explode. But the littlest Tracy remained silent.

Gordon watched his baby brother carefully, hating the defeated slump of his shoulders and vacant look in his eyes. What the hell was Scott thinking? Well, no, actually, he understood where Scott was coming from – watching Alan nearly being killed wasn't his idea of a fun time either – and he realised that his kid brother really was just that, a _kid_. But they had nearly lost him before, a couple of times actually. What made this time so different?

Scott turned to John. "We'll have to ground Thunderbird Three without a pilot, which means no space rescues. Can we put out some kind of announcement, or is there another organisation that can take over?"

"NASA has limited capabilities, but Scott..." John glanced at Alan, but the blonde still wasn't putting up a fight. It was weird, unsettlingly weird.

"When?" Alan asked.

"The school term starts in just under a month," Scott replied. "I'm sorry, Sprout. But it's for the best.

* * *

"What the _hell_ are you thinking?" John demanded as he walked into the den.

A few hours had passed since Scott had deemed it a good idea to drop the bombshell, and the others had long since retired to their rooms, leaving the den in darkness if not for the stars shining through the glass front windows. Sitting in one of the launch seats for Thunderbird Three, Scott held a tumbler of amber liquid loosely in his hands and stared out to the middle distance. "Right now?" he asked evasively.

John towered over him. "You know exactly what I meant."

"It was _logical_ , John," Scott retorted, taking a sip. "I would have thought you'd have _liked_ that."

John pinned his brother with a disbelieving look, and then took a deep breath to try and quell the brief spike of anger. He perched on the edge of the coffee table so that they faced each other, frowning at the half empty bottle by Scott's feet. "What is going on with you, Scooter?"

"It's the right decision to make, John," Scott replied, avoiding the question. "The only thing wrong with it is that it's taken me this long to see it. Letting him pilot Three... I can _almost_ justify that. He was the only one that Dad taught aside from you, but we couldn't have you launching space rescues from Five without someone qualified to play the role of Houston. It just made sense."

Scott shrugged, before his features darkened. "But then I let him tag along on normal missions. Hell, he's flown One when I've been too tired to do it, and I damn well let him. I forgot that he was just a kid."

"He's a Tracy."

"He's _fifteen_ years old!" Scott snapped.

"I'm aware of that," John said with forced calmness. Shouting wouldn't get them anywhere, and he needed Scott to _hear_ him right now. "He's a teenager that believes that he's being punished for making a mistake, and that it's _his_ _fault_ that the rescue went as sideways as it did. Sending him away again is the worst thing that you could do right now. He needs reassurance, not distance."

Scott scoffed. "That's where we screwed up! Don't you see?" he gestured wildly with the glass. "We've been telling him all this time that he's a natural, that he makes this look too easy, and now he's cocky as hell! His confidence doesn't _need_ boosting."

"Right now it _does,_ Scott," John retorted with a sigh. "Didn't you find it weird how he didn't fight you on this? This is the kid who _broke_ _his_ _ankle_ during training, and _then_ proceeded to set the record on the rock wall in a _walking cast_. Normally, he'd be finding a way to fly Three one-handed right now, but he's _not."_

"Maybe he just realises that he's not ready for this either," Scott said quietly, staring into the glass as if it could hold all the answers. "He was seriously hurt on that mountain. He nearly _died,_ Johnny. Maybe it scared him and he wants to quit anyway."

John paused at that. There was a ring of truth to it, after all. It was possible that his brush with death could be making the youngest Tracy hesitant to continue as a Thunderbird, but John didn't believe that. It wasn't the loss of his _own_ life that Alan was worried about. It was that his brothers' were put at risk as well. He was doubting his ability to do his job, but he wasn't the only Tracy faced with that conundrum.

"And Gordon?" John asked. "How comes you're not grounding him too, then? What's with the double standards?"

"You saw what he was like during his recovery, John. Becoming a Thunderbird is what helped to bring him back. If I tell him that he's not fit for duty..." Scott's voice trailed off. He emptied the glass in one hit. They had all witnessed the consequences of Gordon without his confidence. They had seen how it had broken him. "It would have to be his choice."

"But Alan, who has proven himself time and again, isn't allowed to make that same choice?" John pointed out the hypocrisy. "What gives _you_ the right to make that decision for _him?"_

Scott's eyes dropped to the carpet, almost in shame. And then, much to John's concern, he picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. "It's for the best," he intoned monotonously. "It's what Dad would have wanted."

"Dad's not here," John said bluntly. "And _you're_ not Dad. No matter how much you try to be."

Scott grimaced, as if he were all too aware of that fact. The second glass of bourbon was drained in the silence that settled between them, making John wonder just how long his older brother had been seeking solace from a bottle. He sighed again, sadly, as he took the glass and bottle from Scott's grip and returned it to the ominously empty desk. "There were better habits of his that you could have picked up."

The elder Tracy grunted non-committally, but didn't argue as the bourbon was taken away. John sat back down on the edge of the coffee table and studied his brother, realising for the first time just how bone-weary he looked. Scott wasn't just tired, he was worn thin. John recognised the hunch of his shoulders as if a heavy weight was piled on his back – he saw it in the mirror every day. He understood the pressure that Scott was under. He felt it too.

"This is about more than just that mountain, Scott," John broke the silence. "Virgil told me that you've been a little... erratic, as of late, and I've seen it too. What is this really about?"

Scott finally looked up and met John's eyes, the defeated expression saying far more than words ever could. "I can't lose anyone else," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "It's my responsibility to keep you all safe, but its hard with what we do. I can't fail like that again. I can't lose him like that again."

John nodded in understanding. "You need to talk to him, Scott," he advised gently. "He needs to know that this is about _you_ , not him. Or you're going to lose him anyway."


	6. Epilogue

Alan lay flat on his back on the floor of his room, staring up at the ceiling with one arm a heavy weight still trapped in a sling across his chest. He was surrounded on all sides by piles of laundry haphazardly folded and a couple of half-filled boxes; but his motivation for packing had long since dried up, (if it had even existed in the first place). All that it was doing was reminding him of the many reasons _why_ he was leaving.

He was a failure.

How could he have messed up so badly? Because he had. Right? He must have done, because Scott was mad and Gordon was hurt and it was all his fault because he had made the choice. The _wrong_ choice. They say that hindsight is 20:20; that once the adrenaline and the panic had passed, one should be able to see the clearer, logical option that had been missed before. But, the thing is, every time that he stopped and thought back over that moment on the mountain, he _knew_ that he would still make that _exact_ _same_ _choice._

And that just confused Alan. Did that mean that he was a lost cause? That he would perpetually make the same mistake? That he was incapable of _ever_ doing his job? It was their duty to help people; so when Alan had seen little Amelia stranded in the path of the avalanche, he had done what he believed they were supposed to do and tried to save her. He was a Thunderbird, after all. Saving people was practically the motto.

But that was wrong, apparently. He hadn't weighed up the risks properly, or whatever. His heroic moment had backfired and left _him_ as the one awaiting rescue. He understood _that_ , but what was he supposed to have done instead? Do nothing, freeze up? Watch an avalanche _kill_ a six-year-old girl?

 _That_ just sounded _so much worse_.

Ultimately, he didn't know _what_ he had done wrong, just that he had majorly screwed up somehow. Normally, Scott or John or one of his many older brothers would sit him down and explain to him what his mistake had been. They'd tease him a little, or tell him about 'that one time' another of the brothers had messed up, but the moral of the story was always that it was okay because he would _learn_ from his mistake.

But how could he do that if he didn't know what he had done wrong in the first place?

Whatever. It didn't matter anyway. Scott had made it perfectly clear that Alan was never going to be a Thunderbird, so there was no point in worrying over it. He'd never get the opportunity to make the same mistake again.

He'd never save anyone. He'd never fly Thunderbird Three. He'd never put on the uniform.

It was over.

"Hey, Sprout," Gordon greeted, propped on one crutch as he knocked on the open door frame. The older blonde took one look at the disaster zone that had once been a bedroom and whistled, impressed at the scale of destruction. "I thought that you were meant to be _packing?"_

Alan swallowed back the tears that had threatened, his misery translating to anger. "Don't worry, Fish Face, I'll be gone before you know it," he snapped sarcastically, shoving the nearest object into a box without even looking at what it was. "I won't screw anything else up."

"Woah," Gordon blinked, taken aback by the venom in the retort. He hobbled a step forward, but hesitated at the glare shot his way. " _Woah_ , easy. I didn't mean anything by it, Sprout. It's not like I want you gone."

"Whatever," Alan huffed, his eyes dropping back to the carpet as he continued madly packing things without rhyme nor reason, the forceful shoves pulling painfully at his injured arm though he didn't have the sense of mind to care. "I'm the reason that you're back on crutches, I almost put you in a _chair._ I bet you'll be glad to be rid of me."

"What? No. Wait," Gordon spluttered, utterly confused. " _What_ are you talking about?"

Alan finally looked up, his anger abating a little to be replaced with hesitation as he studied his immediate older brother. It had been over three weeks since the rescue-gone-wrong, and though Gordon was still far from his usually active self, he was much steadier on his feet than he had been. Dressed in one of his classically loud Hawaiian shirts with his hair still damp from a dip in the pool, he looked almost normal (with the exception of the crutches); if somewhat mortified by his brother's words.

"It's my fault that you got hurt," Alan said, shrugging uncertainly under Gordon's stare. "If I hadn't have messed up you wouldn't have had to come and save me and gotten caught in the avalanche and hurt your back and I'm really sorry and-"

"Okay, stop," Gordon interrupted. He made to close the distance between them, but his crutch landed in a pile of laundry and stopped him short. He smirked at Alan. "Now clear a path for the cripple so I can get to the bed."

Alan moved to obey, nudging boxes and clothes and various junk out of the way with his foot, and then stepping back so that Gordon could limp past and carefully ease down to perch on the edge of the mattress. The younger blonde ended up hovering awkwardly nearby, caught between wanting to help and knowing that the help wasn't warranted. Gordon patted the sheet next to him with a grin, an invite to join him that Alan was less than eager to take.

"Sit," Gordon added, entirely serious. Once Alan had obeyed, he turned slightly so that he could look his little brother in the eye. "Now listen to me very carefully. This. Was. Not. Your. Fault."

"But-"

"No," Gordon said forcefully. "You're supposed to be listening. You didn't do anything wrong on that mountain. You did what was asked of you as a Thunderbird and saved that little girl's life. Alright, so we then had to save you, and I may have made a joke at the time that implied that you being all heroic was a bad thing, which I'm sorry for by the way, I didn't mean it, but me then getting hurt was my own damn fault for not anchoring us more securely and that's nothing to do with you, because you weren't exactly conscious at this point but those stupid little nut things are fiddly and... and I've forgotten where I was going with this."

Alan snorted a laugh, which felt both good and oddly strange, like he hadn't laughed in ages. Which he probably hadn't, to be honest. Not since the mountain.

"Anyway," Gordon picked right back up with a smirk. "The point is that it wasn't your fault, and I make jokes at inappropriate moments."

Alan smiled. "That was your point? Really? Are you sure? Because I thought it was about fiddly nuts."

"Shut up, Sprout," Gordon grumbled good-naturedly. "I'm trying to cheer you up and be all reassuring, the least you could do is have the good grace to pretend that I am wise and awesome."

Smirking, Alan pretended to bow down before his older brother and grovel appropriately. "You're right, I'm sorry, O' wise one, I..." the act broke, a wide grin overtaking his face. "Nope! Sorry, even _I'm_ not that good an actor!"

Gordon's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Oh that's it!"

The older Tracy had the younger one trapped in a headlock before Alan even knew what had hit him, making him gasp in surprise. He stifled his natural instinct to fight back, however, mindful of his own aching arm and acutely aware of hurting Gordon's back further. He settled instead for fake struggles as his fabulous hair-do was noogied into a bird's nest. The attack gradually became a one-armed hug as the laughter subsided, Gordon squeezing the embrace tighter for a moment before letting go.

"Look, I think that Scott's being an idiot," he admitted. "And I've told him so. Pretty sure that Virg and Johnny have too. Sending you back to school like this, without even talking to you? It's just dumb, and he's too stubborn to see it. But you know what, if you wanted us to, I'm pretty sure that the four of us can take him. Just say the word."

"Thanks," Alan shrugged guiltily, hating to be the cause of conflict between his brothers. He knew that any one of them would defend him to the bitter end, just drop everything and protect him, no matter the personal cost to themselves; and _that_ was the problem, he realised then. _That_ was where the rescue had gone wrong.

By putting himself in harm's way; even _before_ performing the heroic act that any Thunderbird would have done in the same position, Alan had caused the fear that had affected his brothers' judgement. Gordon had just admitted that he hadn't secured them properly, resulting in the second fall. Virgil had been forced to manually haul them up the mountain, injuring himself in the process. Scott had had to operate heavy machinery while his bleeding fingers went unchecked. It was all far from professional, but in their bid to protect Alan, their own safety had been ignored.

He wasn't naïve. He knew, all hero worship to the contrary aside, that his big brothers were not infallible. They made mistakes just like anyone else did. But nothing could quite make them slip up like Alan Tracy.

So essentially, merely his _presence_ was the problem.

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this anyway," Alan whispered quietly, finally giving voice to his doubts. "Scott's right. Dad never wanted me to be a Thunderbird, and now I see why."

" _What?"_ Gordon yelped aghast. He stared at Alan for a whole thirty seconds as if his younger brother had sprouted a second head, and then blinked slowly. "Okay. _That_ was the single dumbest thing that I have ever heard you say, and trust me little brother, you've said a lot of dumb crap. 'Dad didn't want you to be a Thunderbird'? Then tell me, Sprout, _why_ are there _five_ birds? _Why_ did he teach you to fly Three? _Why_ do you have a uniform?"

" _Dad_ was the fifth pilot," Alan pointed out, his anger coming back to the surface again. "And he only ever took me out on Three because I wouldn't shut up about it and the uniform was just a consolation prize because I was _obsessed_ with being a Thunderbird and he didn't have the heart to tell me _no!"_

Stunned into silence, Gordon breathed "Do you really believe that?"

Alan deflated. "I don't know." He wasn't really sure of anything anymore.

"Okay. Okay, listen up, Sprout, because I am only _ever_ going to say this _once,"_ Gordon said firmly, brokering no argument. "You're a natural at this. It's actually annoying how many times I've heard Scott or one of the others comment about how _easy_ you make it look or how fricking talented you are. Dad _taught_ you how to fly Three because he could _see_ that. You believing otherwise is just ridiculous, because you could put the rest of us to shame."

"Says the Olympic Gold medallist."

"In _swimming!"_ Gordon snorted derisively. "Some life skill, that. And I only ever pushed myself to be that good at it because I felt that I _had_ to so that Dad could see me. Our older brothers' cast long shadows after all. Scott being the good soldier, Johnny the genius. Even Virgil with his art was trying to make a difference. The only worthwhile thing I ever did was W.A.S.P, and we all know how that ended. Being a Thunderbird was great too, but it never came easy to me like it does to you." He sighed heavily and bit his lip. "Do you know what it's like to watch every one around you shine while everything you touch turns to mud?"

Awkward silence smothered them in the aftermath of the outburst, making Alan shift uncomfortably and Gordon look stunned at his own words. The rant had clearly been stewing for a while, but Alan had never had a clue that that was how his older brother felt about himself. Gordon had always come across as easygoing and laid back, and though Alan knew that sometimes Gordon could hide things behind a smile, he had never realised just how much was buried under the laughter.

But then his attention caught on his brother's use of past tense. "You're quitting IR?"

Gordon blinked, seemingly surprised by Alan's question. He thought about it for a moment, amber eyes distant, before picking up his crutches and propping them against his knees. "I guess I have to."

"But why?" Alan asked. "Those are only temporary. You'll be walking normally again soon, right?"

"And what about next time?" Gordon snapped shortly. The floodgates were open now and he was having a hard time shutting them again; and while it scared Alan to see his brother this vulnerable, he knew that Gordon needed this. "Every time that I hurt my back it doesn't just magically go back to exactly the way that it was. It gets _weaker_ every time. The next rescue could put me in a _chair."_

"That never scared you before," Alan said quietly.

Gordon smirked sardonically. "Are you kidding? It terrifies me. I just never let myself think about it for too long before, but now..." he trailed off, and then shook his head as if to rid himself of the thought and forced a smile. "Geez, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I'm supposed to be cheering you up, not moaning."

Alan saw right through the fake grin for the first time, recognising in Gordon the same doubts that he saw in himself. They were in the same position, facing the same choice. And while it was reassuring to know that he wasn't alone, it still left more questions than answers. "If you did quit..." he began hesitantly, breaking the silence, "what would you do instead?"

"Huh," Gordon shrugged, absently twirling a crutch. "I don't really know. I thought about being a coach for a while; but you know, that whole 'those that can't do, teach' thing hits just a little too close to home. I could maybe go back to school, I guess... Or, _or_ I could help Lady P with her 'agenting'," he grinned slyly. "What about you?"

"No idea." Alan flopped back on the bed, resuming his earlier task of staring at the ceiling. "Being a Thunderbird is the only thing that I've ever wanted. I've never imagined doing anything else."

"You're only fifteen, Sprout-"

"Sixteen, next month," Alan corrected.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Whatever. The point still stands that you're young and you've got time. _And_ you can still _be_ a Thunderbird, whenever you're ready. I can take Scott in a fist fight, if needs be."

"Thanks, Gordy," Alan smiled genuinely. "But I don't think that that's necessary just yet. I think that maybe, maybe going back to school is a good idea for me. I mean, I _have_ missed my friends, and I wouldn't have to eat Grandma's cooking, and maybe... maybe I could find something else to be, you know, just in case Scott kicks your ass."

Gordon's laugh was real this time as he pulled Alan back in for another one-armed hug. "Is it _your_ choice?"

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "I want this."

* * *

"This sucks!" Gordon announced emphatically.

"Yep." Virgil agreed. The two of them, plus John, stood together at the edge of the veranda outside the den, shielding their eyes from the sun as they watched Tracy One take to the air. Inside the plane was Scott and Alan, heading to Wharton Academy in Massachusetts, the youngest brother not to be returning again for another six weeks. As the small private plane vanished to a pinprick on the horizon, Gordon sighed heavily, missing his partner in crime already.

"Scott's an idiot." He added. Because he needed someone to blame.

Virgil nodded. "Yep."

John rolled his eyes and attempted to scold his younger brothers with a glare. "Maybe Scott's just trying to be a responsible adult. He is Alan's legal guardian, after all. The Sprout was falling behind in his schoolwork because of IR, it makes sense that he should go back to Whartons."

Gordon and Virgil hit the redhead with twin raised-eyebrow stares.

"What?"

"We heard you arguing with Scott that night," Virgil pointed out. John made to accuse the middle Tracy of eavesdropping, but Virgil merely shrugged. "You don't agree with this anymore than we do."

John made a frustrated huffing sound at having been caught out, taking a moment to think over his answer. "Okay, admittedly, his timing sucks," he lamented reluctantly. "But I agree with the principle. How about that?"

"Very diplomatic," Virgil smirked.

A strong breeze from the ocean chilled the tropical air for a moment, bringing the scent of salt further inland. All around them jungle birds called to each other, but all that did was serve to remind Gordon of just how few people inhabited their little island. Usually with the five brothers and Grandma Tracy, Kayo and Brains and MAX all living in close quarters, it was too loud and busy for the loneliness of the quiet island to really be noticed. But right then, Gordon felt it, and he hated it.

"We're gonna miss his birthday," he mumbled quietly, though his older brothers were close enough to hear. Virgil's gaze dropped from the plane to the floor almost guiltily, while in contrast a small smile appeared on John's face.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said cryptically. Both Gordon and Virgil looked at him questioningly. "It's not going to be like it was before."

'Before' being before Dad disappeared and after International Rescue was founded. 'Before' being the few years where it was almost as if there were only four Tracy brothers, the youngest the unintentional victim of 'out of sight, out of mind'. Alan attending boarding school on the other side of the world while the newly formed Thunderbirds struggled to establish a routine had led to more than one birthday being missed. None of them had ever done it on purpose, but they were all guilty of forgetting the Sprout at one point or another.

The age difference didn't help. Alan was always the one being left behind.

But once they had brought Alan home again, needing the whole family close while the search for Dad began, he had never once brought it up or used it against them. He hadn't forgotten, not by a long shot, but he had forgiven them. He knew that his big brothers would never truly abandon him after all. But Gordon also knew that Alan would lose his trust in them forever if they ever let him down like that again.

Gordon broke the heavy silence that had settled between them. "Huh, maybe Scott's not such an idiot after all."

John grinned. "I wouldn't go that far."

* * *

The rented SUV shot down the motorway doing a steady seventy-five, flashes of the English countryside blurring past on either side. Scott kept most of his attention on the road, not exactly used to barrelling down the wrong side of it, but also watched his passenger out of the corner of his eye.

Alan was quiet. Too quiet for a kid who had just turned sixteen and was getting a free pass from school in the middle of term. Not that Scott was exactly expecting conversation. He and Alan hadn't spoken properly since... since... Well, he couldn't remember the last time. But usually Alan was the hyperactive type that could fill any silence with excited chatter or curious questions. The teenager hadn't even asked where they were going.

Maybe John had been right.

Scott sighed to himself before changing lanes to overtake a slow-moving lorry, silently scolding himself. He should have spoken to Alan before taking him back to Whartons. They had had hours in Tracy One where he could have explained so much, where he could have told Alan just how proud he was. Where he could have just admitted that he was terrified of losing the kid, and simply wanted the best for him. But he hadn't said a word and neither had Alan and now...

John _was_ right. Dammit.

"So," Scott attempted conversation. "How's school?"

"Fine."

Okay, yeah. Maybe asking about school wasn't the best place to start. But he couldn't think where else to begin. It wasn't like he could just blurt out what he wanted to say now, was it? Why was it so hard just to say 'sorry'? Scott wanted to hit his head against the steering wheel in frustration. He probably would have done if Alan hadn't have been in the car. _I'm an idiot,_ he thought to himself, and then grimaced. Great. Now _Gordon_ was right.

"I'm sorry."

Scott blinked as the words that he wanted to say echoed in the SUV, but didn't come from his own lips. He glanced sideways at Alan to find the blonde staring resolutely out of the passenger window, the sadness of his expression only visible in the wing mirror. "School's pretty good, actually. Turns out that my grades aren't that bad and my physics teacher is even considering putting me forward for AP classes next year. I think, I think that I might even go to college, you know, eventually. I don't know what I'll study yet... I don't really know what I want to do, to be honest."

Pride made Scott smile broadly as his eyes flickered between the road and Alan's reflection. He had always known that the kid was smart, maybe even as smart as John. No one could have picked up the literal rocket science that Alan had learned piloting Three as quickly as he had, after all. It was as if he could simply absorb information sometimes. But Alan was like Gordon in that way, always hiding his intelligence. It was almost as if they both believed that they couldn't compare to the 'genius' of their elders, and as such they never put themselves forward to compete.

Scott had missed the signs with Gordon - the elder blonde was often too good at keeping secrets – but he wasn't about to make the same mistake with Alan. It hurt to think about, but _legally_ , Scott was his guardian. The only parental figure that the teenager had left. It was time that he started acting like it. "You can do anything you want to do, Sprout."

Alan still wouldn't look at him, as if he didn't believe Scott's words. "Including becoming a Thunderbird."

 _That_ made Alan turn around. He stared at Scott with wide, conflicted blue eyes, and said the very last thing that the eldest Tracy had ever expected to hear. "But I'm a liability."

"What?"

"Out there, on rescues, I distract all of you," Alan shrugged, as if it were obvious. "You're always so busy looking out for me, making sure that _I'm_ safe, that you don't take care of yourselves, and that's how you all ended up hurt."

Scott gaped at Alan, before his attention snapped back to the road just in time to slam on the brakes. Traffic ahead had slowed while he wasn't looking, almost causing him to run into the back of the white van in front of them.

Alan looked down at the hand that Scott had automatically flung out protectively and sighed. "I'm even doing it now. That's why Dad never wanted me to be a Thunderbird. He knew that, no matter how capable I could become, you all would always only ever see me as the baby brother. I would compromise everything, just by being there."

"That's... that's not true, Sprout," Scott murmured, remembering to keep his eyes on the road as they picked up speed again, hoping that Alan wouldn't see that he was lying. Because he was. He knew that Alan could take care of himself, had seen him do so, time and time again. But Scott also knew that he would never truly ever be able to let his guard down and trust Alan the way that he could the others.

It wasn't that Alan wasn't capable. He was. He was smart and strong and truly a natural, but he was also _young_. Scott was protective of all of his younger brothers, he couldn't help it. The need to look out for them had been ingrained into him since he was a toddler and became a big brother that first time, but with Alan, it had always been different. John was naturally independent; he never asked for help and rarely needed it. Virgil was stoically sensible; he hardly ever made a bad decision, and Gordon? Well, Gordon had been forced to grow up the hard way.

But Alan, for Scott, would forever be that tiny blonde toddler with the blue eyes and bluer lips that he had pulled from the snow.

"It's okay, Scott, I get it," Alan said quietly. "I don't blame you. It's not your fault. I... I should've known that it wouldn't work out before I got my hopes up, and hey... at least I got to be a Thunderbird for a while, eh?"

Oh, that was it.

Scott cut up an eighteen-wheeler to the tune of angry horn-blaring as he crossed two lanes of traffic to get to the hard shoulder. Sticking the hazards on as he cut the engine, he undid their seatbelts and yanked Alan into a hug that the teenager clearly was not expecting. Face mashed against Scott's shirt, Alan tensed up and made to shove his big brother away. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and he relaxed into the hold, his arms wrapping around Scott just as tight.

"I am _so_ sorry," Scott mumbled against blonde curls. "I am so sorry that I made you feel this way. I'm always going to be looking out for you – I can't just switch that off – but I promise, when you're ready, and if you still want to, you are going to be a Thunderbird again. And I am going to learn to deal with that."

Alan snorted and pulled back, his eyes bright with tears that hadn't yet fallen even as he smirked. "Are you sure you want to promise that? That sounds like quite a challenge for Smother Brother One."

"Well, at least I got Brothers Two-to-Four as back-up," Scott grinned and ruffled Alan's hair. "We're always going to look out for each other. We're Tracys."

Alan smiled as Scott restarted the engine and checked his watch. "Speaking of which, we better get moving. Put your seatbelt on."

"I wasn't the one that took it off," Alan grumbled, though he was still smiling. He did as he was told as the car pulled off again, re-merging with traffic as they picked up speed. "Where _are_ we going, anyway?"

* * *

"You are not an idiot."

Scott glanced up from the activity on the track below as the middle Tracy approached. They were on the viewing balcony of Brands Hatch race course, the whole place having been rented out for the day so that the youngest Tracy could tear around the track in expensive cars. All of them had joined in the fun of course, and currently Alan and Gordon were engaging in a one-on-one race to see who would get the biggest slice of birthday cake. Alan would win, of course, but it wouldn't be because Gordon let him.

Turns out, Alan really was as good at driving as he had claimed.

Scott rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "Thanks, Virg, that means a lot."

Virgil just smiled as his eyes automatically followed the two sports cars battling around a tight bend and into the straight. "This was a good idea. Did you think of it all by yourself?"

"Absolutely," Scott lied, glad that Lady Penelope wasn't there to see him take all the credit. To be fair, it had been his idea to do something for Alan's sixteenth, he just hadn't been able to think of what that something should be exactly. It was Lady P who had suggested Brands Hatch, much to Scott's initial horror. But he had to admit, seeing Alan's face light up when he realised where they were was totally worth the high blood pressure and acute terror that Scott was feeling as he watched the cars hit high speeds.

"Uhuh," Virgil nodded, clearly not believing him. "So how did you manage to get the owners of this place to overlook the fact that Alan's _sixteen_ and not legally allowed to drive in this country?"

"Well, Virgil," Scott retorted. "You may not know this, but we're actually a little bit rich and slightly influential. Every now and again, we are allowed to exploit that."

"Lady P convinced them, didn't she?"

Scott sighed dramatically at having been caught out. "I don't know why I bother."

Virgil laughed and clapped Scott on the shoulder in mock-sympathy. They fell into comfortable silence as they watched the race draw to a close, Alan easily drawing out in front and leaving Gordon in the dust. Scott watched in mild concern as the two blondes climbed out of the respective cars, Alan clearly with more ease than a slightly stiff Gordon. The injuries that they all had sustained on the mountain had mostly faded into memory, but Gordon's back...

"Has he spoken to you yet?" Virgil asked as if he were reading Scott's mind, "about what he wants to do?"

"Yeah," Scott nodded apprehensively.

Virgil glanced sideways at him. "You don't sound happy about it."

The eldest Tracy sighed and sagged a little against the railing. "I'm glad that he's smart enough to take his time coming back but... having him out there again... the risk... I don't know if I'm ready to step back and let him be in harm's way again."

"Being a Thunderbird saved him last time," Virgil pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure that it won't also be what breaks him," Scott admitted. He met his brother's worried gaze and tried for a reassuring smile despite his words. "I won't tell him what to do, that never works with Gordon. If he thinks he's ready, then he is. I'm not going to stop him."

Virgil nodded thoughtfully. "I think I like this new, mellower you."

"Oh, I'm freaking out on the inside," Scott muttered. And he was. He could claim that he was okay with Gordon going back out on rescues and the very real possibility of Alan once again becoming a Thunderbird, but he was still an older brother. The day that he stopped worrying was the day that he stopped breathing. But he couldn't hold them back forever, and it was high time that he learned to let go.

"I know," Virgil grinned, and then pointed at the pits. "Johnny's up next against Kayo. Who do you reckon will win?"

"Uh, Kayo, obviously," Scott answered. "I don't think that Johnny even remembers how to drive anymore. He hasn't been on Earth this long since Five was built."

It was true. It had been nearly two months since the mountain, and John had only gone back up to Five a couple of times to check up on EOS and reassure her that she wasn't being abandoned. Before, they would have been lucky if he stayed planet-side for a whole day before disappearing, like he was being chased away if he stayed for too long. It was nice, Scott had missed having more than a hologram of his immediate younger brother to talk to, but also odd. And he knew exactly who he had to thank.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you two talked about?" Scott asked, knowing that Virgil would know exactly what he was referring to. Virgil always did.

"Oh, you know. Stuff," Virgil shrugged. "Don't worry Scott, he's okay. I think we all are now."

And actually, Scott thought that Virgil might be right. They really would be okay.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, I don't think that I have ever written a happy ending like that without there being some kind of horrendous cliffhanger...ever. I am mildly considering maybe writing, not really a sequel, but another story following from this in the same universe. I have ideas for once again torturing the Tracys, but I'll try and get more written before I start posting next time to avoid the huge update gaps (sorry again about that!)
> 
> But anyway, thanks so, so much to the wonderful people who have read/kudos'ed/followed and/or commented! You are all amazing and I'm just glad to have written something that people seem to have enjoyed! Thanks also in advance to any future readers! Perhaps I will see you again soon...
> 
> Manic x


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